The Renegades 3: Double Jeopardy
by Elentari2
Summary: Arien, an elven witch, tries to alter the evens of the War of the Ring turning back the time, but things do not go according to plan. Is it really all fair in love and war? Renegades Book 3. HP-LoTR, Legolas-OFC. Revised 2010. End posted 2012
1. Prologue: Time Paradox

**AN.:** don't mind if this got a bit confusing. The whole plot for this third of The Renegades is to go deep down the rabbit hole. If you're patient, this will be explained at later chapters.

I've done some minor revisions on June, 2010. Enjoy!

Third piece of the _Renegades Trilogy_.

**The Renegades: Double Jeopardy**

**By Elentari**

_**Prologue: Time Paradox **_

_To see a world in a grain of sand_

_and a heaven in a wild flower,_

_hold infinity in the palm of your hand_

_and eternity in an hour._

_-William Blake_

_What has gone on before: _

With the defeat of Sauron at the first War of the Ring, the peoples of Middle earth try to go back to normality. Galadriel, lady of Light, sends her sister Aredhel as an ambassador to the northern elven realms of Greenwood and Arton. However, when Aredhel leaves Greenwood to go to Arton, her party finds the elven realm destroyed by an expanding human empire from the north. She barely escapes, but her bodyguards are killed in the conquer battle where two mortal armies fought over the lands, they had the misfortune of stepping into, and she is later caught prisoner.

Aredhel keeps secret about the southern elven realms and guarantees that the Dorian empire would not invade south. With time, she fell in love with a general of Dorian, Glaucus Antonius, they got married and had two children, Andrea and Ariel. Their elven inheritance was kept secret with lies and isolation. However, Dorian was too corrupted and the emperor puts one minion against the other in order to keep them weak. In the games of power, Glaucus is unjustly charged for treachery and his family dies trying to escape, saving the youngest child, Arien.

Arien fled seeking the legendary haven of the half-elven. Aredhel believed her half elven offspring wouldn't be entirely welcome in either Men or Elf realms, as most of the peredhil crawled in the shadows to a secret kingdom of theirs in the First Age. With the help of Fangorn, she learns the localization of Antar, but when she was approaching the city, Arien crossed an interdimensional gate – a wide marble wall with huge marble gates- and was transported to Earth, a land of incredibly advanced technology, were non-magical folk (Muggles) live not knowing of the existence of with wizards and witches, unicorns, vampires and all kinds of magical creatures.

With the help of Dumbledore and the emotional support of the Weasley family, Arien is enrolled at Hogwarts, a great school of witchcraft and wizardry, where she first learns how to use magic and that not all wizards are good. Shortly after her arrival the Wizard World War erupts, when all wizards separate in two sides and fight fiercely for over seven years, and most the students of Hogwarts join the side of Light. Arien was separated from her Weasley friends and sent to the Mediterranean Resistance unity in France, serving there until the final battle in Phoenix, Texas. After the fall of Voldemort, wizards return to their lives as it once was, and the group of Ravenclaws known as The Eagles travel around the world writing two books on curiosities from both Muggle and wizarding society. Arien later marries Sirius Black, her former superior in the Intelligence department, and after his death goes to Hogwarts as the Charms Professor and Head of House of Ravenclaw. One hundred and fifty years later, Arithmancy experts from the Order of Phoenix point the exact time and place of the next gate opening, and Arien crosses it to go back to Middle earth – Only Interdimensional gates are not precise in its time/space delivery and the half-elven arrives at earth on what had been her homeland (Dorian), almost three thousand years after her departure, and one hundred and nine years before the Second War of the Ring.

All Arien wanted was to find a nice place for her to settle down, continue teaching magic and enjoy herself in peace.

Fate had a different agenda…

A hundred years later, Arien was called to protect her country against the western threat – The Easterlings had begun to attack their borders. For the first time ever, spies were sent to the outer world and the renegades – as the antarian sometimes like to call themselves – learned of Sauron. Arien went off to help in the war with her friend and ex-student Damon. However, the prejudices and old grudges between peredhil and Men and Elves were too strong to be put to rest so simply.

Stuck in the siege of Gondor, Arien falls in love with Legolas. But her friend Damon, who wants to sacrifice Gondor and the friendly nations to focus the defence in Antar, would not let the witch get involved with an elf. Arien, anticipating his attack and aware of the weakness of the resistance, plotted to turn back in time and re-set the events of history.

Only not everything worked out as she had planned. Something went wrong.


	2. The White Council

**Chapter one: White Council**

_It began with the forging of the great rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else, desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made._

_One Ring to rule them all._

Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Rings (movie)

**Lothlórien, Caras Galadhon. Midsummer's Day, 2851.**

Celeborn watched as the caravans entered the city lazily. For the first time since its formations, almost four hundred years ago, the White Council would meet to discuss Dol Guldur's Master, known as the Necromant. Just the previous year Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, had gone into Dol Guldur and found out that the Necromant was none other than Sauron himself.

The Lord of Lothlórien, once known as the Ear of Thingol, Celeborn the Wise, shook his head slightly in sorrow. They all knew Sauron had not been definitely defeated, but yet, the years of peace always felt too short.

Dol Guldur had been built in the first millennia of the Third Age, and The Wise –the istari and the great among the Eldar – had at first thought it was one of the Nazgûl. Dark creatures had multiplied in the dark places of the world since then, and restlessness slowly settled in Middle-earth. The shadow had grown again.

The first members of the Council were already climbing the mallorn stairs. With his keen elven eyesight, Celeborn could distinguish Curunir, Mithrandir and Laeghen talking in whispers as Haldir the March warden lead them upwards. Lord Elrond Half-elven came with his twin sons, Cirdan from the Grey Havens stood calmly taking in the beauty of Caras Galadhon, and Lord Thranduil king of Mirkwood in deep conversation with Herolin his counsellor. It had been long since Celeborn had seen any of his sindarin kind, in Lórien or anywhere else, even thought they were now so mingled with the sylvan people that the son of Oropher considered himself a woodland elf rather than sindarin. Since the First War of the Ring's disaster, where Oropher had led his people before the signal and many of them died, Mirkwood had kept to themselves. It was almost as if they blamed the rest of Middle earth for the calamity.

Celeborn retreated to his chambers, looking for his dearest Galadriel, the Lady of Light. After all those years, his lady still surprised him. Like now, she was not there to receive the guests with him.

And Galadriel _always_ knew when there were guests arriving.

There was only one possible answer, really. She was looking into her Mirror and lost track of time. Leaving orders to Annuiliel, their butler and household manager, to accommodate the guests in their designed rooms, the Lord of Lothlórien set out to meet his wife at the Enchanted Pool.

..::(~'*'~)::.

The Mirror had a mind of its own.

The wise and powerful could bend it to their will, but even so, the most revealing – and often astonishing – predictions always came when one let the Mirror do its work.

The Lady of Light had been called many names in her long life. Artanis, Nerwen, Galatáriel and presently a sylvan variation; Galadriel. Maiden crowded with brilliance, it meant. She had always had a strong mind and the ability to decipher people's heart, besides the wisdom of many thousands of years and the inner light of one who once saw the Trees and lived in the blessed lands of Eldamar.

She now stood before the Mirror, watching in apparent idleness as it showed her many images in quick succession. She saw Celebrimbor as he revealed Sauron's betrayal to his fellow smiths in Eregion, saw the falling of Doriath and Lúthien's death, saw Mithrandir sneaking into Dol Guldur to seek for the dwarf who held the last of the Seven rings –only to find the ring had been taken, to receive the key to Erebor from a dying Thráin -, saw a day with no dawn and the world of men falling under the reckless assault of Sauron's forces.

Galadriel saw many of the possible outcomes of Middle earth's impending crisis. What would come to pass should Sauron be victorious, and what would be should the Light defeat the Shadow.

And then the images began to change –not as if they were actually moving to show the next events, but as if they were alternative versions of the same events. Galadriel bend over the vessel in surprise and shock as one image got clearer, a redhead she-elf riding alongside a redhead male elf, across the meadows of Eriador, but then the images changes, and there was a huge elven army fighting alongside with Men (and that was not the usual Last Alliance image echo), and the she-elf became two. Galadriel could see her moving from realm to realm, manipulating, suggesting, negotiating, and most of all investigating. She saw a large gathering of elves arguing, and saw a small congregation in Imladris with all the races present, also arguing, but over what Galadriel could not yet see.

Channelling her willpower to the redhead in question, Galadriel relived the image of a huge marble gate before a little elfling in a wagon – she had seen that image so many times since Arien had left – and then a large metallic machine left the same gate, moving at unnatural speed, and at one point she saw the redhead girl wandering in a long forgotten road, and the machine stopped, releasing from its loins another just like her. And Galadriel recognised Arien. But there were two of them, and that was not possible!

"Galadriel?" Her husband Celeborn seldom went into the pool when she was looking into the Mirror, and he did not interrupt her unless there was an extreme reason for it. His soft voice invaded her senses and the images in the Mirror became blank once again.

"Yes, My lord Celeborn," she asked softly, turning to see him as she got further form the vessel. From all the people in Middle-earth, Celeborn was the one who could claim to know Galadriel – and even he could not read her sometimes. The merest shadow of a frown signalled he had noticed her disturbed state of mind, but he did not question her yet, there would be time for that later.

"The hour grows late, my dear. We shall dine with the council before we proceed with the debates tomorrow," her husband said extending a slender hand to her, and they walked back to their flet in companionable ease. She did not need excuses with him – nor to any living soul in Middle-earth, to be precise. But yet it was a good thing to be loved and accepted by someone so completely that he knew when you needed space. Celeborn knew she had a serious reason not to be in their flet as the members arrived, and he also knew that she would come to him and talk about it when she felt ready – in the privacy of their chambers, without all the galadrin overhearing.

And yet, Galadriel was content enough to softly approach his mind in a silent conversation.

'_She's coming back for us.'_

..::(~'*'~)::.

"We _must_ attack Dol Guldur before the dark lord has time to prepare his army." Mithrandir stated quite determinedly, finishing his report of his discoveries in Dol Guldur and dwarf-lord Thráin.

Sauron was looking for the Ring.

The White Council was assembled to discuss the threat of Dol Guldur. Now that they knew without a doubt that the Necromant was indeed Sauron the Deceiver, things were more complicated. Dol Guldur had always been a threat, but a Nazgûl would be easier to deal with than the dark lord himself.

"We are not ready to face Sauron yet, Gandalf," Curunir rose, his voice gentle but firm and unwavering. "A last Alliance of Elves and Men could not do it in all their glory... and we are now not yet recovered from the past mutiny. If we throw ourselves into his domain, we will achieve nothing but give him advantage. No, we must ready ourselves for this."

Thranduil squirmed almost imperceptibly in his chair. The Eldar discussed the matter among themselves, evaluating the pros and cons of an open attack.

"Dol Guldur is perfectly located to threaten all of us," said Elrond, the herald of Gil Galad in the Last Alliance and lord of Imladris. His twin sons were not allowed in, and were both wandering in the Golden woods as the gathering proceeded, "One step wrong and we will be exposed for Sauron to invade our houses and destroy our people."

"You speak wisely, Lord Elrond." Curunir conceded.

"And yet, we must not let Sauron idle to plan his assault on us. He has often proved what damage he can bring, and what malice he can use. Even the wise of Eregion have fallen under his spell," Celeborn declared. He had also fought in the Last Alliance, and before that he had joined Thingol's efforts to protect the lands surrounding The Belt of Melian and Galadriel brother's realm. Whilst Celeborn would always be a man of lore and kind manners much more than a warden and felt no joy in warcraft, he was not unbloodied nor a coward by any means.

"We will not leave him idle, milord, nor have I ever said that." Curunir defended himself, seeing that the situation was about to leave control. "But we are all people of responsibility, and many lives depend on our counsel. With threat living so near our homes, should we not tread carefully? No, I say not that we stay still, waiting for the snake to bite; ere I say that we prepare ourselves for the confrontation. Lord Celeborn said himself, and you all ere heard of how cunning and dangerous Sauron is. Let us gather some more intelligence, and make ready our forces, which are still deprived from much violent and constant mutiny already."

"Don't you say aught, Galadriel Lady of Light?" Celeborn asked his wife quietly. Galadriel merely shook her head softly, immersed in meditation. The images kept swirling in her head. Deep within, she knew it was meant to be.

"Curunir's advice is sound," Cirdan spoke quietly but loud enough for all to hear, "as is Mithrandir's. They both are correct in their assessment of the situation. And we _have_ lost too many of our kindred in the Alliance, for elves do not multiply like men or dwarves. Or numbers diminish. If we are to enter in another struggle with Sauron, we shall enter, but past experience has shown we must be careful with him.

"Then be it," Elrond agreed. "Let us try and pry something about the dark lord's plan, and make ourselves ready, for the fight shall be long and hard with such a cunning and malicious opponent."

Thranduil squirmed again in his seat, less imperceptibly this time. Only Herolin saw, and even him only by the volume in his lord's pockets, that the King's hands were balled into fists. The sylvan folk had always been distant from the noldor and sindar, finding them too proud and superior to their sylvan counterparts, tauntingly questioning the woodland elves ruler's right to call himself a king as if he was one of the High King of old when they called their leaders but Lord and Ladies, but since the massacre at the Dead Marshes distance had evolved to complete dislike. And the actual meeting would not do much good for the diplomatic connections between the elven realms.

Not when the said realms were backing down from a preventive attack on Dol Guldur –and the evil place was closer to Mirkwood that would undoubtedly be the first woodland realm attacked.

Valar knew what Thranduil might be feeling.

Galadriel directed her clear azure gaze upon the woodland king, not judging but understanding, and a very small part of his anger faded.

"If this is the will of the White Council," Mithrandir conceded with a small bow to the present, "then I shall do my utmost to gather the necessary intelligence quickly. I cannot stress the urgency and importance of being ready as soon as possible, Sauron must not be given time to make his move as he wills it."

"The fight will be hard," the Lady said, "and perilous. But not long. For good or for evil, when the time has come, it shall be over swifter than our previous confrontation."

Elrond dropped his gaze to the ground, as Thranduil prepared to leave, for the meeting was very clearly over. Mirkwood had been left to stand alone _again_.

"We will find friends in the most unlikely places and foes in the most unexpected people. Take heart, my friends. The shadow has not yet won."

"No, milady, it has not," Thranduil bowed and spoke quietly, yet the lady could see the desperate fury behind his eyes. 'There is no use in discussing with those people,' he thought, 'as the decision was made very swiftly, and their minds are set. Aye, get ready I shall, Curunir, for none of you will take your eyes off from your precious lands. Look at what happened when we were generous.'

Elrond almost made for him, but one silent command of the Lady stilled him. '_Let him be, son of Eärendil. Fate has a very tortuous way of working. He will come back for us in the determined time.'_

_'I should hope so, Lady Galadriel. I should hope so. But I will submit to your wisdom, as it has not yet failed.'_

Mirkwood ceased all exchange with the noldor realms, and from them on they kept to themselves.

..::(~'*'~)::..

**Antar, Province of Antares, borders of Antares the Capitol City. November 15th 2911.**

The people who lived in the outer part of the capitol stared amazed as a wagon slowly made its way towards the snow-covered city.

It had been over fourteen thousand years since any peredhil asked for shelter in Antar, and the walls had been closed for good since. Antar stood out of the outer world's affairs and the outer world seemed to be too happy about the arrangement. A small but respectable guard always watched the Wall and the borders, giving that their recent neighbours, the Easterlings, weren't exactly the most trustworthy of people, but they were left in peace. Watchful peace, but peace nonetheless. Was it possible that the rigorous winter had forced the watch out of their position? No, there it was, a small company riding not far behind them.

Snow kept falling heavily, signalling a storm coming soon, as the riders entered the capitol and the elflings were left wondering who had entered Antar after such long time, and why.

Stella and Solene were led straight into the Ministry of Welfare and Development, where in spite of the merciless coldness, a small crowd had already gathered. Both girls were clad in grey and dark green, standing in the middle of a myriad of colours.

A group of tall half-elven stepped forward and Solene held back her breath as the group positioned themselves straight in front of the 'twins'. One of them, that Solene recognised as Hayden – he was king when she had arrived in Antar first, she remembered vaguely – spoke a few words in their native tongue, but of course none of the girls could give any sign of knowing the language.

After a few moment's silence, another blond elf, even taller – _Selton!_ Solene felt her heartbeat go wildly at his sight, as Stella did not yet know him personally – tried again in a perfectly fluent Quenya. _That_ language they could talk with them.

"We ask for shelter and citizenship in Antar, my lord. We have long wandered in the lands of Middle-earth and our feet are weary. There were rumours of a land where one could claim nationality in spite of lineage, birthplace or rank, and we sought to reach it, even thought many said it was only a myth." Solene replied, already taking the role of the Big Older Sister.

"Are there still rumours? We have not received any outsider in over fourteen thousand years, and here in Antar it is believed our kind is all gathered here, and that those who do not dwell now here had perished elsewhere," Selton mused, staring at them. Both twins could feel the careful tendrils of thought trying to worm their way into their mind, but their barriers were both shut up tight and none could pry.

"Those who seek shall find, eventually," Stella said quietly, "Mother once told us of this place. Of course finding it was nothing short of a task, we walked up and down Middle-earth, from the icy northern wastelands to the far south deserts of Far Harad and beyond. And yet, whenever we asked about the hidden city they thought we were talking about Gondolin, that fell in the First Age, and begun to tell us tales of that city."

"But not all of your kind is gathered here, if by your kind you mean the half-elven, for we haven't arrived till today, and there are some who do not live here. Elrond and his children dwell in fair Imladris, and have since the Second Age," Solene added with carefully portrayed innocence.

"Ages?" asked one of the elves, with dark hair and grey eyes and Solene realised she did not know that one.

"Imladris? Gondolin?" asked another, who was probably counsellor for the King.

"They dwell in fair Imladris? Do they need rescue? Are they being held?" asked Selton, in a perplexed state of almost shock that could very easily turn into full fledged fury – and that was one very dangerous elf to anger.

"They do not need rescue, they are not being held," Stella said with convincing amusement which was as false as a triangle with four edges. "Elrond half-elven is Lord of Imladris, actually, powerful among Elves and Men."

There were amazed murmurs through the crowd. Stella wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, and realised Solene was fighting hard not to tremble. If the elves were feeling the cold so, she dared not imagine how the mortals were suffering.

"You jest with us," said the King, "All people know the elves hate us."

"I would be much too frightened to jest with you, my lord, as I'm clearly outnumbered," Stella replied.

"Maybe someone should remind the elves then," Solene said, "For Elrond Half-elven _is _lord inImladris, well loved among his people and respected everywhere, and he has been the lord of Imladris since the year 1697 of the Second Age. Have you not any communication with the outern world at all?"

At the silence that followed her words, it was all Solene could do not to laugh.

"If that is so, why did you not go to Imladris instead of pursuing a _myth_?" the king pointed out smugly.

"We follow our instincts. And it was about the hidden city our mother used to speak about, not Imladris." Stella defended herself, one octave higher than it should be strictly necessary.

"It was not a purely logical decision, nor is this a short tale. But could we talk about it by the fire? I'm freezing here." Solene spoke in a non-nonsense manner. Truth to be told, her lips were rather blue – and considering elven natural resilience against cold, that was a sign that the temperature was several degrees below zero.

That did the trick, and the gathering remembered that they were going trough one of the coldest winters ever recorded in the history of Antar. They passed a large chamber close by, where a small fire was going – and it was fed several branches by some very curious elves, warming the room considerably.

After long deliberation, it was decided that Selton should be their legal guardian and tutor until they fit in the country – so he could keep an eye on them, as well as introduce them to the antarian way of life. He was a very respected and influent member of the society. The blonde elf took the girls home before dusk, as there was a snowstorm coming, and they lived with him for the first few years.

_The Plan_ was being put in action.

..::(~'*'~)::..

**Northern Mirkwood, near the Mountain Halls, March 16th of 2906**

Legolas looked past his shoulder where Garand should be. Being 2896 years old, the young prince of Mirkwood was no novice in the patrols, as he had joined the contingent of wardens as soon as he turned one thousand years. Legolas could remember the growing apprehension as the Wise discovered the evil power that had built a fortress in Dol Guldur, but ever since the White Council his father had gone from extremely cautious to downright paranoid.

Ever since, Mirkwood had been on its guard. After all, it was _their woods_ that housed the evil; it would be _them_ who would feel the first impact of the offensive. The merry woodland folk moved further north to the mountains, building Halls of Stone with deep corridors under the mountain; and learned to make ambushes for the dark creatures that kept invading their woods. Giant spiders, trolls, goblins from the mountains, all seemed to be attracted by the shadow in Dol Guldur, and constantly they fought to keep those creatures off the immediate borders of the woodland realm.

Garand was a relatively new acquisition, only recently recognised as a ripe warrior. As such, he would be assigned to less perilous patrol parties, until he gained experience and competence to venture in more dangerous ground – the parties that went down to the core of the wood to prevent the foul spiders from becoming too many, for example. Or patrols near the mountains were goblins dwell; those were also particularly dangerous as there were plenty of goblins. Legolas dared not _think_ how the foul beings multiplied so fast.

'Ah, there he is,' Legolas thought, seeing the novice coming out from the cover of the dense foliage far behind him. Theirs was a small group, only walking around the perimeter of the mountain halls, seeking any immediate danger.

"Regroup!" came the order from Gilmador, their captain, who had a special mind to shape young warriors into their full potentials and was often assigned to command missions with said warriors. Legolas himself had spent a good ten years under his command, and he had learnt very much from the older warden. Ordinarily Legolas would not join a party for youngers, but he was very fond of Gilmador and the captain needed warriors of experience as well as the training novices, so the prince volunteered.

A group of six elves approached Gilmador, after the area had been considered clean by the scouts.

"Okay, lads, let's go home," Gilmador said with a small smile. They had spent two years travelling around the court of his father, and survived more encounters with goblins and trolls than Legolas would have wished to have. They were multiplying at an almost dizzying rate. Fortunately the elves had not lost any of their companions in the last years, but there had been casualties in the past few centuries.

"Do you think we'll reach home in time for the Summer Festivals?" asked Feriel, another warden. The elf had trained with Legolas since they were elflings who could barely hold a sword upwards, and had joined the patrol as soon as Legolas said he would go. Woodland folk loved partying, singing and dancing, and specially, loved wine. It was the wish of the king that even thought they had increased the security of their realm; their folk should not sulk and lose their natural ways of life.

A low laughing sound was heard, for as much as the place had been declared cleared, it was not impossible that dark creatures were drawn by the prospect of killing a small group of elves.

"Are you that anxious, my lad?" teased Gilmador, as it was a well known fact that the novice would miss home terribly in the first few patrols, in spite of the excitement of being in action. That way, Gilmador was implying that Feriel was a novice and not a warrior with almost two thousand years of service, and the teasing was met with several merry chuckles.

But Feriel was a fine lad, and had a nice sense of humour. "Yes, sir!" he answered good-naturedly, "I have a fine lady whom I have not seen in a very long time! If you had such an encouragement I'm sure you'd hurry home as well!"

More chuckles were heard, everybody knew Gilmador was happily married since the beginning of the Age. "I will hurry home, you _pest_, and as soon as I'm sure I can do so and not have an unhappy surprise at my homecoming. I'd rather face a thousand spiders than Evulvia in a temper. I'd have no way of defending myself from her if a marauder gobbling found his way ten miles close to the Mountain Halls."

"I'm sure we'll come home before the Summer Festival, Feriel, so do not worry. You'll see your lady in no time," said Legolas happily, as they continued their way northwards. They had gone on foot, as a horse would be too much of a giveaway to be taken.

"What about you, Legolas?" his friend asked gaily, and at that several fair heads turned their attention to the prince, and Legolas inwardly groaned. He knew all too well where that conversation was going to, "Who's the happy lady that will be Princess of Mirkwood?"

Trying his best to remember kinslaying was unforgivable and that Feriel was only exercising the wit he took so great delight with rather than anything else, Legolas answered calmly, "I have not yet met her."

..::(~'*'~)::..

The group arrived home a week short from the Summer Festival, and Legolas waited outside the Throne Room while Gilmador reported to his father, observing as people passed by him in a frenzied state that was most contagious. Involuntarily a smile crept to his lips, as several elves all but run through the corridors discussing the stock of wine, who would be playing and who would sing, and who would plight troths and who would announce a wedding. Those were rather rare things, really, there were relatively few people unattached at the realm and fewer indulged the courting games, Legolas himself excluded.

It was good to be a woodland elf.

A particularly pretty maiden caught him smiling alone in a corner and gave him a small smile of her own. Legolas returned it, but trying not to smile in that I'm-interested-in-you way. He was considered extremely attractive for an elf, and being the son of the king his lure multiplied tenfold. However, the rank brought with it constrictions that were not present in the simple lives of most the elves in Mirkwood, courtesans or not. From very early he knew he had to set a shining example for his people, and the very only time he had tried to kiss a girl his father was in Legolas' chambers the next day demanding his intentions towards the lady.

They had after that a rather awkward conversation about duty, wedding, siring children and the _ways of life_. From that day on, Legolas refrained from any advance towards ladies, at least until he had some serious interest in pursuing a relationship.

Legolas cringed at the memory. Thranduil was his father and the prince loved him dearly, as his kin as well as lord, but Thranduil could be extremely intimidating when he wanted to.

And the court had practically boiled with rumours that there would be a Princess of Mirkwood soon.

Feriel, obviously, had never let Legolas live that one down.

"Legolas?" Gilmador's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Yes, captain?"

"Your father wishes to see you now." The older elf said, nodding in the direction of the open doors. Legolas could se his father and Herolin at his side, the Throne room appeared to be otherwise deserted.

With a nod, Legolas entered the great Throne Room. He saw Herolin standing up and leaving by the door on the side that should lead to the library and inner gardens.

"Father," Legolas bowed, and heard the soft sounds of Thranduil's footsteps as he came down to greet his son.

"Legolas, my son, it is good to see you home."

"It's good to be home," the younger elf replied with a smile – they were alone after all. "I won't speak of the patrol as Gilmador already reported to you, but I feared we would not come before the celebrations."

"Oh, yes," Thranduil said with the hint of an all-knowing smile, "Gilmador told me so. But there is time yet, Legolas, and you have been away for some time. Take a bath and have a meal, and get some sleep if you feel like it, there will be a small dinner in the dinning hall later."

If there not for the oncoming festival, the small dinner would grow into a banquet, the prince was sure. Being the only son, Legolas was specially treasured. That was alternating flattering and vexing. There were times in which he thought his father itched to lock him in the dungeons with the precious metal and gems.

"Thank you, sire. I shall talk more with you before dinner, then."

"Yes, we have plenty to talk. Now go, do not linger, there are a handful of ladies who were most anxious for your return and I wouldn't dare to let them in suffering."

And Thranduil, eventually, could tease as bad as Feriel.

With a barely perceptible sigh, Legolas embraced his father before returning to the organized chaos that the hallways were.

The walk to his personal chambers were almost unperturbed and he could enjoy the first nice and quiet he had had in nearly two years. His mind relived the events of the last mission and he recalled the close calls they had. Mirkwood was getting more and more dangerous as time passed by. Last decade he had lost a formidable warrior companion and friend near the Hithaiglin, the range of mountains west in the Rhovanion, what proved that proficiency alone could not warrant survival. There were sharp senses, speed, reflexes and fighting skills. And sometimes, there was luck.

In seven days, they would go to the wood immediately near the Mountain Halls and celebrate life as they had always had. Even being suspicious of strangers, Thranduil kept a somewhat friendly connection with the folk of Valle, and several supplies were traded often. There would be merriment and dancing for several days, as only wood elves could properly do.

But Legolas was too tired for such musings – he had had a long travel, and a long night was ahead of him, if his father's playful mod was any indication. So he bathed and slept, incredibly grateful for the simple comfort of a warm and soft bed under his body, and for not having to strain his senses to watch for nameless dangers in the darkness.

After all, soon his father would throw him into a room full with eligible young maidens, in the hopes that he would fall head over heels with one of them and marry her in a year- the shortest interval for betrothal considered polite by tradition. Sometimes, it was really difficult to understand the King of Mirkwood.

He had just returned from a supposedly easy mission that lasted for two years, had to watch his back against practically everything foul in Middle-earth, and his father was plotting his wedding.

_Honestly._


	3. Not so admirable New World

**Chapter two: Not so admirable New World**

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.

Jane Howard, "Families"

**Antares, the capitol, Antar. February 5th of 2919 T.A.**

Antares was the undisputed sparkling jewel of the Republic.

The First Haven was built on top of a high plateau, and its walls were built to come up from the very hills that lay immediately before the Mountain range near the Eastern Shore. From the West, one could see naught but a huge, impossible-to-climb precipice with odd stony paths that might lead to caverns – which were actually the ancient entrances to the hidden city and the beginning of Antar, watched by the Royal Guard on the high caves in the rocks.

Past the Great Wall, there were luxurious forests that contrasted sharply with the desertic landscape below. The High Mountains kept the moisture from the Eastern Sea and the rains confined to the lands between the mountains and the shores, causing the Sunlands to be a dry land especially when there where so few rivers and water poles there. The forest was cool and misty in the Northern lands but became somewhat tropical and warm as it went south. Sparkling pearly white buildings rose to the sky among the tall trees that had been planted and cultivated to look as if they were a garden, dividing attention with simpler flats and even some rare ground-floor house for those half-elven who got too used to with the mortal lifestyle to let go. The roads were made of marble from a rich mine in Enn Arris, even when the public paths were of simple grass.

The capitol was a frenzy of life and activity – Antares was the only heavily populated city far from the coast because like the elves, the half-elven loved the ocean and preferred to live by the sea. However, many did not leave Antares even for the prospect of living near the gentle roaring of the sea. Antares was also the political heart of the Republic, housing the Royal Palace and the Antarian Senate – royal being merely a sense of prestige, since the rulers were elected for a thirty-year service.

It was simply _breathtaking_.

Being one of the first few who had been there since the beginning and helped building the country, Selton's house was extremely well-located, being near enough the political edifices and the commercial centre but yet secluded enough not to have an overwhelming air to it. It was also a very good house, built on the ground like Mortal Men's, with two stories and all open to the gardens around. Silk curtains posed as doors and windows, and delicate plants crawled up the columns and outer walls.

However, despite its size and design, it was rather easy for Selton's wife Lycia to find her husband and their twin protégés. Her keen hearing detected a carefree musical laugh followed by distinct feminine giggle, and she steered herself to the direction from where the sound came, holding in her hands a tray with cold drinks.

She knew Selton had been lecturing the twins for a long time, and the weather was so _hot_. It was so good to have younglings again, to hear laughter echoing through the walls. It reminded her of her own daughters, both now grown ladies and mothers themselves. Her grandchildren, however, showed no wish of settling down.

If anyone had told Lycia she was missing having people to look after, and that she'd be delighted to have children around her in her age, she'd wave her hand dismissively from the top of her ten thousand years old wisdom. But there she was, organizing the twin's agenda, arranging lessons, giving advice and brushing their hair at night whilst telling stories of old.

Solene and Stella had noticed that unexpected affection, and they both took and returned it without reserves. So it came to be that only eight years after their arrival at Antares and in her life, the twins treated her and Selton with all the love and deference due to blood parents.

Selton once said, long ago in a moment of particular bitterness, that first generations were much like street dogs – always wary of unseen blows, never expecting to find affection, and always taking it eagerly when found.

Lycia had never truly understood the concept till then.

"That is not so! I know things were hard at the end of the Age of Trees and the Beginning of the Age of the Sun, but it is not so now," Stella cut Selton quickly, speaking fast and moving her arms wildly. She was the most restless and impulsive of the duo. Lycia often wondered how people could mistake them. Even if there was not _one_ visible physical difference to tell them apart, one only had to observe their behaviours or hear them talking to say who was who.

"Stella, you must concede it is hard for antarians to let go of the things we have believed in just because you tap your feet on the ground," Selton retorted patiently.

That was an old argument.

"The world has changed, Selton. You cannot see it because you do not look outside the Great Wall but that does not stop it from being true. Most of the people that had done something in one way or other to _some_ of us are now long dead or sailed to the West," Solene added with far more wisdom one so young used to have, utterly unafraid of entering in a mind battle with one who was several thousand years older than her. The twins had an air of confidence in themselves that was almost aggressive, but in Solene it was a quiet stating of her powers, of her own valour. Stella often lost her coolness and snapped, but Solene would always have an almost irritating know-it-all air.

**"**I think you might have been fooled because a prestigious lineage had made up for the fact that a peredhil has not _pure blood_." Lycia cut in, placing the tray on the table and handing each a tall glass of iced tea.

"We gave none any name beside our own, and we made no secret of our hybrid blood. They still treated us kindly," Solene protested, raising her glass to her lips.

"Why don't you go out and see for yourselves," Stella snapped, as it was obvious she soon would. She always did.

"That would disclose our position to all the people in Middle-earth," Selton reminded his protégés, "and the Senate would not allow it."

"What's the point of living in a Republic when they still control your life as if it did not belong to you?" Stella asked rhetorically.

For once, Selton did not answer her outburst because whether or not the twins knew it their well-positioned questions had made him think a great deal lately. And wise as he was, Selton had not yet found an answer to most of them.

"That's for our own protection, darling," Lycia tried to calm the temperamental girl down.

"There no need for such precautions anymore, Lycia," Solene stated in her firm, no-nonsense way that spoke volumes of who had been the one to deal with the negotiations of the twins wanderings. "We live closer to the humans than you imagined, with the easterlings almost on our doors, and they could not find their way into Antar if their lives depended on it. If one does not know where the door is and the march wardens do not let him in, one will never even know _there is_ a city behind the mountains."

"One probably does not even know it is_ a wall – _it looks like a precipice from the outside," Stella added thoughtfully.

"You have a point at that," Selton added carefully, "for it was built thus. But I cannot answer for the senate. This concerns the whole of Antar, and should be discussed with the elected authorities."

"However, I should advice you to tread lightly in this manner. There are many among us who are bitter, and this proposition might draw ill attention towards you," Lycia said, brushing some invisible strand of hair off Solene's face.

"I know, Lycia," she said, and she did know. Arien had lived with the consequences of that rancour.

That feeling should be extinguished before the War of the Ring.

_'We are being careful.'_

"We will take this matter to the King Hayden then. It is a shame that we live in hiding as if we were criminals."

**Grey Mountains, North of Mirkwood. September 14th of 2921 T.A.**

"Halt!" Gilmador cried to the company of elves behind him as he caught sight of the scout party returning from their inspection further east alongside the mountain range.

It was getting worse, Gilmador thought, with every passing years the shadow grew stronger. It seemed that there was some sort of countdown –and they were running out of time.

Alarmed with the boldness and savagery of the goblins – they had flat out invaded the western borders last fall - King Thranduil had ordered a company to the Mountains that flanked Rhovanion North and West.

Captain Gilmador knew they did not have strength enough to completely eradicate the menace, even because a good part of the warriors had to stay behind and defend home from any possible attacks, at the rate the creatures multiplied. The woodland army was there as a palliative measure, to bring the crisis to a bearable level.

The scout party, fifteen elves, galloped hard till they were among their kin and face to face with their captain. Prince Legolas dismounted quickly and stood before Gilmador.

"We have seen naught from here till the Gundabad Mount, but for a few wandering goblins that we felled upon sight."

Gilmador nodded to his former pupil, and lowered his gaze to the ground, thinking hard. In spite of his long years Gilmador was a reasonably easy to read elf.

"I guess we should head south, then. Our reports said the Misty Mountains have become more and more dangerous to cross, " Gilmador mused aloud.

Truth to be told, the captain wasn't very comfortable about bringing Legolas along in that mission. It was likely to last much longer than the previous one and be far more perilous.

The king had been upset about it too, but Legolas was his own elf and would have nothing of it. The prince pointed out it would be very odd for them to call the woodland folk to arms while the royals stood hidden safely at home. And Thranduil himself going was out of consideration, at least for now.

"We ride south then," the captain said, "Alongside the Misty Mountains. We'll ride at first light of dawn."

The company –two hundred and fifty seasoned elven warriors – resumed their previous business, lighting a fire for the night, preparing a meal, chatting idly by the fire as a dozen wardens took watch of the camp.

Legolas, having reported, returned to his friends who were already serving themselves by the fire, some sitting up on the grass, others resting lazily on the sleeping bags.

"Do you know if we are going to pass through Rivendell, my lord?" Eamane, one of the few female warriors in the Royal Guard, asked. Females often knew how to fend for themselves, but it was rare to see one leaving home to fight.

"I do not think so, unless we are driven there hunting goblins," Legolas replied quietly, "the captain has orders to hunt the orcs, and Imladris has very well guarded borders."

"I'd like to see the Last Homely House, one day – they say it's a city built into a valley, above the gentle roaring of the Bruinen," Feriel cut in.

"They say so," Legolas said non-commitantly, "although father told me it's more like a big house than a city."

"I'd like to see it, too," Eamane whispered wistfully.

Not for the first time, Legolas wondered why Mirkwood was so isolated. They've always been withdrawn, sure. And the Shadow _was_ growing strong. But yet, there were times in which the woodland folk travelled freely among the elven realms.

Very few of the younger elves have set feet out of the Mirkwood Halls, unless they were patrolling the borders. Diplomatic parties were not organized for five centuries, and if it were not for Mithrandir visiting every once and again they would have no news on the outer world at all.

He yearned to see those other lands his kin spoke about, the golden woods of Lothlorien, fair Imladris of the valley, and one day, the Grey Havens. But that would be when he had tired of Middle-earth, and his heart was still young and restless.

There was something in his father reluctance to communicate with other, something deep and silent, like a festering wound.

One day Legolas would go out and see the world. But he would at least try to have his father's blessings first. Legolas knew he made his father upset often, especially when Thranduil was so overprotective about his only son and Legolas was such a reckless, adventurous soul. And both of them were extremely resourceful and stubborn people (how could he not be, being his father's son?).

Legolas slept fitfully that night, although the night was clear and starry, hoping he'd have good news when he returned home.

He dreamt of a nice, lovely elven city in a valley, with the distant sounds of a river flowing somewhere near.

**Minas Tirith, Gondor. January 7th of 2922 T.A.**

Word travelled like fire in dry hay.

The renegades had been wary at first. Their first visit had been to some of the outer tribes of the Sunlands, but it was far from successful. They had established the fact that the Easterlings were minions of Sauron and did not wish to change anytime soon.

That almost brought the whole expedition to end, but Amaellys, Selton's oldest daughter (she had been a Ravenclaw like Arien), pointed out that they already knew the easterlings were not friendly. There were other realms in Middle-earth, and they might be different. So the antarians rode southwest to the land of the Mark, riding at top speed as they passed the nearness of Mordor.

Come to think of it, Rohan was not that great either, Solene thought, as she rode up the wide path that crossed the seven gates.

Fengel, King of Rohan, was a very poor excuse of a king, and that had been particularly difficult to handle after the Easterlings disaster. Fengel was a fourth child and third in the line of succession, but all his brothers had died in conflicts with orcs in the Westfold. Fengel had a heart greedy for gold and food, and constantly disagreed with his marshals and relatives. However, once again Amaellys saved the situation by pointing out that the man was already on his last days, and that his son and Heir Thengel was as different from his father as day from night.

_'It might have looked as if we were courting Fengel's friendship,'_ Solene mused to herself, her shoulders swaying quietly in silently laughter, _'but in fact we were making an alliance with Thengel.'_

The Antarian committee arrived at the Seventh Ring and couriers took their fine mares off to the stables, while the half-elven were led to the Tower of Ecthelion.

It really was an eye-opener.

It gleamed like a pale pearl in the clear morning sky, a beacon of strength, hope, and vigilance. Minas Tirith was, after all, a fortress. But it had something bewitching. All too soon, the committee was gathered before the Steward Ecthelion in the Throne Room, and Solene allowed herself a few moments' reminiscence, reliving a time in which she, Legolas and the twin sons of Elrond had climb up this room to save Aragorn from the angry hands of Denethor.

Her memory came in bits over the years.

"It is a privilege and a pleasure to have the Fair People in my halls," Ecthelion said gracefully, ever the gentleman, "Welcome, welcome."

"Greetings, my lord Ecthelion. The pleasure is ours," King Hayden spoke. In the end, he would not let anyone make the journey in his place, although he would have to cut it short prematurely so they could be back in time for the election of the new ruler of Antar. "We are visiting the Realms of Men in Middle-earth, seeing a little of your lands and customs. I hope you do not mind our exploration?" Hayden continued easily, as if they were very old and close friends, speaking of nothing over a mug of beer in the mortal's case, or a glass of wine in Hayden's.

"It is certainly unexpected, but not unpleasant. We shall be glad to give you our hospitality," Ecthelion answered, if a bit baffled, and both the twins released a small sigh of relief that passed by unnoticed in the excitement of the meeting.

It was time and past time they had something _good_ to show off, after all. The thin antarian good will would not resist another Rohan or worse yet, another Sunlands.

They had one year to start their alliance with the gondorians, carefully entering that people's heart and in the same time allowing them to enter in the renegade's hearts as well. Then they'd be off to Antar for the elections.

**Misty Mountains, February 20th of 2923 T.A.**

The company was showing blatant signs of exhaustion.

Not that Legolas could blame them, really. They've been away from home for over three years, and the Misty Mountains had been, as reports had led them to believe, a _nightmare_. One would think the wars with the dwarves would have left the Misty Mountains, or Hithaiglin as elves also called it, deserted, but in fact it was quite the contrary. The encounters with the goblins had only worsened as they approached what Gilmador sadly said one had been Moria.

When they crossed the Silverlod, it was one tribulation after the other.

Every nightfall, the hills were swamping with orcs. And cave trolls. And they even had a nasty meeting with the Demon dogs of Sauron, the wargs.

Hopefully for them Lothlorien had sent reinforcements, one hundred and twenty warriors with the blessings of the Lord and the Lady of the Golden Woods.

They could not have come too soon, in Legolas' opinion. However, when they were travelling south for the last few miles of the mountain range, the galadrin said they had to return to Lothlorien.

Apparently, the Lady herself had told them to return.

_'What would that possibly be about?_' Legolas wondered, as the company rode those last miles. It probably was nothing. Chances were they would not find any more goblins in their way south, and yet Gilmador was nothing but thorough in his duty. They'd go till the borders of Fangorn.

And that's when they practically ran into a small party of elves, riding northwards from the forest of Fangorn. Apparently they got a bit startled upon seeing them, but it would be rude not to say their greetings, so they approached one another.

In everything that was military intelligence, Gilmador was the captain of that group. Legolas did not specifically care about fighting for the leadership, especially when he knew the older elf had much more experience and expertise than him. The prince would do what's best for his people, not for his own pride, and the best thing was to let the seasoned warrior take the lead. However, when they were approaching a foreign group of elves, he was the highest rank elf in the company and would speak in his father's name if need be. So Legolas increased his mount's speed, riding side-by-side with the captain, and glanced around to the luxuriously green landscape around him. When the groups finally met, he dismounted, noticing that Gilmador and most of the other elves near them did the same, and addressed the strangers before them.

"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo a star shines on the hour of our meeting," Legolas greeted the fair group, no more than thirty. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood."

They had all dismounted by now, and there was a heavy anxiety hanging in the air, almost as if they feared something.

_Well, this is a dangerous place, and they were travelling with few scouts,_ the prince thought, _but why are they still uneasy after they met us? Could it be that the woodland folk is now viewed with suspicion? Or __**what**__ is it?_

The leader responded in kind, a tall, dark blond elf with silver eyes – he couldn't be much older than himself, Legolas guessed.. The small group had a rather exquisite, and exotic, colouring, so very different from the usual fair hair and blue eyes or black hair and grey eyes.

"I am Hayden, son of Madrin of Antar. We are returning from a diplomatic mission that led us through some of the realms of Men. May I be as bold as to ask what you do here, my lord, so far from home?"

Legolas smiled faintly, although his mind raced. There was a lingering awareness, a suspicion that was entirely out of place.

_Why would __**anyone**__ ask __**him**__ what he was doing?_

"The threats of the goblins have grown strong of late. My father bid us to see to it that they were pushed back from our borders," the elven prince said.

He could almost picture the other elf asking what they were doing that far, but a redheaded she-elf placed her hand upon his arm and that soft touch seemed to control him.

For whatever reason, she had held the elf back. Legolas wondered what bond they shared.

"It is a sad day when you have to go so far to ensure the safety of your people," she said softly, her deep azure eyes glittering, and some of the elves in her group nodded fervently. She paused a few seconds before adding, "Your faces are weary with much sorrow and toil."

"We have been travelling for a long time, fighting the goblins in the Hithaiglin, my lady, and indeed, the labour was long and hard. We were preparing to return home when we saw you."

"Forgive my manners," she apologised with a dazzling smile, "I am Solene, foster daughter of Selton. This is Stella," she pointed to a lady so utterly alike her even elven eyes could not find a difference, and then to a fair haired she-elf with emerald eyes, "And that is my foster sister Amaellys. But the sun is low in the sky, and nightfall won't be long. Why don't we make camp with what light we still have?"

Legolas realised three things.

_She did have a nice smile_. But then again, most elven maidens did.

_The names were not elven._

_She had offered to talk at length during the night, by the fire_.

"That would be appropriate, Solene, as the Mountains are still dangerous. There is a small glade where we can rest for the night that is defendable in case any surviving goblins try to ambush us. They seem to spring from the very rocks around here."

"Let us rest for the night, then," Hayden spoke, and the small elven party mounted their horses and followed the woodland folk to the campsite.

The sunset was lovely, a myriad of colours against the pale snowy contours of the mountains, slowly darkening the green carpet of deep green grass so common on those lands. The Evenstar shone bright and a crescent moon appeared soon after the first stars were visible in the sky, as it was a clear summer night.

Legolas noticed absentmindedly they had more ladies among them than should be wise in a party so small – there were seven of them. They were all clad in olive and silver, and yet managed to blend in the background as elves do. Fire was lit quickly and soon they were gathered around it, sharing meals. The atmosphere was still heavy and somewhat expectant.

Both groups were wary of each other, with few exceptions.

The prince approached what he had discerned to be the leaders of the committee, flanked by Gilmador and Feriel (who was a son to one Thranduil's counsellors). The twins were there, sitting with their foster sister, Hayden and a dirty blonde elf with the same eyes as Amaellys, and a short dark-haired she-elf with grey eyes.

"Greetings, again," Legolas said, and his own companions offered similar greetings. Pleasantries were exchanged as they sat and shared a ration meal, lembas and some slices of fruit, with the infamous Mirkwood wine.

"I can't," one of the twins said, with an apologetic smile (probably realised the gesture would be received as an offence, woodland elves were extremely proud of their wine), "I do not take alcohol very well."

"It is a pity," Legolas conceded. It would not do for any elf to have fogged senses so near the Goblins' lairs. Perhaps later. Their wine was _that_ good.

"I had never heard of a nation called Antar before," Gilmador cut in, bringing them back to business. He had already finished his meal and was contentedly sipping a little wine.

"No one has," Hayden agreed diplomatically, "We had kept our nation secret since its foundation."

"And when was that?" Legolas asked quietly.

The redheaded seemed to have asked for permission to speak, but the exchange was made silently and no one would have realised it if it weren't for the slight nod the leader gave her.

"In the beginning of the Age of the Sun, some fifteen thousand years ago," she said. (Legolas was almost sure that was the same twin that had spoken with him before, as the other had not yet said a word, but one could never be sure.)

"We found that we did not fit in any of the other places," said the dark haired she-elf Legolas knew was called Valkyria, "sometimes we were not welcome, other times it was simply easier to stand with our own than to try and stay with the others. So a few of us travelled east when the world was still young, and built a city there. Thorough the ages a few hundred evolved to several thousands and we lived in happy oblivion to the world outside our walls."

"But then the world entered our walls," Amaellys cut in.

"And we could no longer ignore it," the other blonde elf completed.

"You sure tried to," Solene's twin said for the first time, and Legolas realised with surprise that even their voices were identical. _How on the Valar's name does one tell them apart?_

"Why did you think you wouldn't be welcome?" Legolas asked, his mind trying to grasp that tiny titbit of information that was making putting his mind on alert. There were not many things that could separate elven kind.

_Kinslaying. Betrayal. That sure bode not well_.

"You must be wondering why they felt they would not be welcome. Something terrible, considering the elven history. It's a bit more trivial than that, as truth is often more complicated and less glamorous than lays and tales," said the Twin Number Two.

"They're _peredhil_, Legolas. Half-elven," Solene explained patiently. "We all are. That's why they felt they did not belong in neither the elven nor mortal world."

_Well, that explains the colouring._

"It happened so long ago," Hayden added. "And it was just so comfortable to stay where we were."

"But now you're communicating with the world outside your country," Legolas stated, remembering his own father and the isolation in which they lived. Once more he felt a pang on his heart. "Do you realise this is a dangerous time for all of us?"

"Yes," said the dark haired lady, "All the more reason for us to come out. If we kept isolated we would never know how to deal with the tribulations that will come."

"There is still time," Stella whispered. "We still have time."

Legolas did not have the heart to tell he thought it was too late already.

"If that is so, maybe you'd like to come with us to Mirkwood."

The peredhil looked to one another assessing the situation. Legolas felt extremely offended then, he was offering his friendship to a group he had never seen before, in all good will, and they treated him as if he was a treacherous creature!

"The company would have to part," said Valkyria.

Hayden looked uncomfortable, but nodded his approval. Unbeknownst to the woodland elves, silent conversations were being thrown right and left about the new twist of fate, and the Comyn, that had come with the group for the safety of the King and to read the mortals and assure themselves of the men's worthy, discussed the situation among themselves. It was clear a refusal would cause a diplomatic accident. It was also sure that Hayden could not go with them, the elections were too close.

"Then the company _will _part," Solene declared with a light squeeze in her King's hands. "He must be back home before the end of the year, to give our people the results of the visit and also to prepare the nation for the elections. We can accompany you to your home, but he'd have to leave before the winter, or else Hayden won't arrive in time."

"We'll be pleased to have you as our guests," Legolas said, but even as the words escaped his lips his mind doubted it. Only there was no turning back now, and he _was_ curious about that nation who kept to themselves for three entire ages. "I must confess I am very curious about your homeland."

"Not as curious as we are, my lord," Stella said with a light teasing tone, "not as curious as we are."


	4. Love is a glass of water

**Chapter three: Love is a glass of water**

_To repeat what others have said, requires education; to challenge it, requires brains._

Mary Pettibone Poole, A Glass Eye at a Keyhole, 1938

**Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. March 1st of 2923.**

It was all Amaellys's fault, really.

Selton's daughter had insisted _so _much on seeing the tree shepherds that in the end even Hayden was excited about it. "_We are already here," _the king had pointed_, "We might as well pay him our respects. Antar owes much to his support, after all."_

That, Solene thought, was a huge understatement. Problem is, Fangorn was one of the few creatures in Middle-earth that could recognize her.

But apparently God was on her side for a while, for Fangorn did not remember.

So the half-elven spent one month in the Fangorn forest, enjoying Treebeard's hospitality, exploring the woods and exchanging tales. The forest was angry and the air was close, but even so, the environment was fascinating. They parted with vows of sending word if they had any clue about the missing entwives.

They were all somewhat relieved to enter the open fields of Rohan once again. Nice as the ents might be, there was much tension in the closed air of Fangorn. The prairies were luxurious, beautiful and evergreen.

The antarians did not find the entwives, obviously. They found elves instead.

More specifically, two hundred and fifty warrior elves.

Hayden was _so_ not pleased. The king feared his companions would suffer in the hands of the elves.

And then the elven company arrived, and Solene almost wished it were so. Because _that _she would have been able to handle. What she could _not_ handle, however, was Legolas. They were not supposed to meet _at all._ Hayden was such a bunch of nerves (and who was to blame him, really?) - that he almost ruined everything. In the end, Solene had to step in and stop them before Legolas' anger boiled even more and the diplomatic ties were doomed before they started.

The renegades talked among themselves and agreed Hayden (much to his chagrin) would return home as soon as possible. A small party would stay in Mirkwood and study the woodland elves and determine whether they were trustworthy.

That was why the renegades had travelled around the Mirkwood Forest – to avoid the super spiders. They were _guests_, and a diplomatic mission at that, so the woodland elves could not willingly put them in harm's way – and headed to Thranduil's underground Kingdom, Taur-e-Ndaedelos, through the lesser used Road that connected the elven court to Dalle – the preferred commercial route was the river.

The forest itself was a bit like Fangorn, but without the anger. It was also surprisingly green and full of life, and the closer they got to the elven city the fainter the darkness was, till there was nothing but the soothing light and the soft sounds of distant music.

The march wardens guarding the borders cheered and saluted their returning prince and companions. Large metallic gates opened from a wall that had been sculpted in the mountains. Most the slow rank soldiers turned in one of the several tunnels going to their own homes whilst the antarian committee was being led to the heart of the city, the palace of Lord Thranduil.

Feriel escorted the seven ladies to their chambers to freshen up, but Hayden and his counsellor would be brought to Thranduil before dinner. Then a welcome party should be held, for the Prince was home, and brought with him guests as well.

**Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. March 11th of 2923.**

When Tuillion burst into his Throne room, Thranduil's first reaction was a momentary panic-after all, such break of protocol could only be motivated by urgent and disastrous events. But his herald was announcing his son's arrival. No matter how deeply Thranduil cared about Legolas and was anxious for his safe return, the fuss was hardly convenient. After all, the company was expected, they were even late. When the king said so, Tuillion said they were escorting some of the most exotic looking elves ever seen on these shores.

Now why haven't the elf said that before?

Word was sent ahead to prepare the guest rooms, to separate some of the wine and delicacies in preparation for the upcoming Festival and serve it at that evening's meal, and to tell the musicians to be ready fro a banquet.

By Elbereth! Leave the elfling alone for a few years and he comes home with a pack of unaccounted for peredhil isolated from civilisation since the beginning of the Age of the Trees!

Had Thranduil not been warned, it might have been difficult to conceal his surprise at the half-elven that entered his Throne Room. The colouring, the features, it all had _something_ that just screamed mortal blood, without losing the grace of the First Born. They would certainly be entertaining. Thranduil could so see the frenzy they'd cause. Their blond hair was darker than the usual pale gold elven hair, eyes bright grey and green – _green! _Not only green, but also emerald green at that, the colour of the leaves at the peak of summer.

The repercussions of such a meeting were just too huge to be considered on an empty stomach, with only a couple hours' warning.

"It might be a little odd at first," the emerald-eyed peredhil said, a king's counsellor named Dalton who was older than both Thranduil and the young half-elven king, explaining the complex ruling system, "But once you open your mind and accept the notion, democracy was the one system the antarians could accept."

"We elect a new King or Queen every thirty years, and they might be re-elected but once and then the ruler has to step aside from elections for three elections at least. The same occurs with the senators, but the Province governors serve for twenty years only. Ministers and counsellors are appointed by the King and the Senate," Hayden explained a bit more didactically, waving his slender hands in the air as he did so.

Thranduil frowned ever so slightly, thinking hard. It was highly unlikely that such system would fascinate the woodland elves; especially after his family had served them for so many ages… it was a symbiotic system, really. But it was odd. Why go through all the strife and trouble instead of sticking with the ones you know are worthy of it?

"This is the way things developed for us some fifteen millennia ago," Dalton stated, apparently looking right through the woodland king like some elves could, particularly those who had been in Valinor. Most unsettling. And irritating.

"I do not believe other realms would adopt our system, as we could not adopt theirs. Faulty as the Republic may be sometimes, we grew fond of it," Hayden stated with amazing accuracy and tact in an elf so young, particularly noting he was not born and raised into the role. The grey-eyed peredhil could not be much older than Legolas.

_Faulty? Wonder what's that about._

Thranduil decided he needed some time to digest the news. There was just _too much_. There would be no doubt about their isolation, that much was certain, the people before him, though wise in their own way, and cordial, held an air of naiveté that was simply not seen in any of the other elves Thranduil ever knew. Even their wariness showed they had no previous contact with the world and knew not what to expect of it, it was a wonder they had held themselves with the proper etiquette really.

These people had built themselves their own version of Valinor and shut the whole world out, living safely hidden while all other people of Middle-earth had to struggle for their survival against Melkor and Sauron. But now the elves were leaving Middle-earth, and Men were few, scattered, and, if Isildur was a taste of it, not at all trustworthy. What would save them when Sauron rose in power again? What knowledge did they have of the ways of the world, of war, of malice?

They'd be taken down as lambs if things did not change quickly.

And Thranduil had more than enough problems with his own realm and Dol Guldur.

"Legolas mentioned something about something that entered your realm, warning you to leave your isolation. I'm rather curious."

"Not something, _two somethings_," Hayden said with a sad smile. "The twins were the first to enter in Antar since the End of the Age of Chaos and the Foundation of the Republic. In the midst of the Mortal Winter no less, and started making a show as if the world was to end the next day. It took relatively little persuasion, especially because the safety of our country was at risk. I had my doubts myself; I thought there might be a little exaggeration from the two impressive young minds. But it had to be checked."

Thranduil nodded. That called for further investigation, but he just had to leave and think alone for a few moments. The problems about the trading with the mortals of Dalle had to wait for a few days, as Thranduil now had a lost nation's representatives to host, not to mention the upcoming festival. He'd be dead and rotten before his people forgone their traditions and culture out of fear.

He'd talk to the girls later.

"I see. But I ask of you to forget those matters for a few hours. This is a festive evening after all. I bid you to go to your chambers and prepare for dinner, a courier shall come to take you to the Banquet Halls."

As both half-elven left his office after a gracious bow, Thranduil got lost in his thoughts, trying to figure what he should do about them.

Stella, Solene and Amaellys were given joint rooms, as family they were. Valkyria and the other ladies of their little committee were given bedchambers nearby. At the moment, Amaellys was staring at the few presentable gowns they had brought with themselves in what would be naught but a journey into the wilds, dismayed, while Stella calmly dried Solene's hair from the bath they had taken earlier. The twins were too lazy to change from their robes yet, comfortably seated on the large bed whilst idly contemplating their sister fret over the lack of attires in the choice department.

The room itself was rather large, which somewhat dulled the twins uneasiness at being trapped several metres under the mountains. The ceiling was high and curtains wisely placed gave them the illusion of open air. The beds were as luxurious as one might desire after months of sleeping in the cold stone or grass, and the quarters were beautifully decorated. Taur-e-Ndaedelos had its own and unique charm.

It was not hard to figure why Legolas loved the place so.

"So," Amaellys stood before the twins in her undershirt, "blue or yellow?"

"May I remind you you're already married?" asked Stella, Short Fuse Extraordinaire, with a sly arching of her eyebrows.

"You're no fun," Amaellys pouted, utterly unimpressed by the child's rambling, and turned to Solene for guidance, "which one?"

"First of all, I really have to insist once more on how ridiculous those undergarments are. Really. It must give you one hell of a job to impress your husband with that thing, all day. If only you'd let me I'd make you something far nicer. And second, both of you are quite correct – You, Amaellys, _are married already_. And you, Stella, are no fun at all. The yellow one brings out your hair, sweetie."

A loud knock in the door interrupted their family bickering. Amaellys ran to the dressing room.

"Come in," Stella cried.

Hayden and Dalton entered cautiously, closing the door behind them. Informal greetings were exchanged.

"I find it hard to believe you have come just to see our faces," Stella commented teasingly, with a somewhat acidic tone in her voice. "Anything the matter?"

"I'd be flattered," Solene continued as if they were one person speaking rather than sisters, "but I have to agree there are fairer ladies to look at. Did the meeting with the king not go well?"

"You are both most humble," the antarian king replied, knowing sometimes mockery was the only answer one could give either of them, "but indeed, I did not come to socialise. I have just talked with the king Thranduil."

"A most fascinating character, I might add," Dalton said quietly, "it was particularly _interesting_ trying to explain the democracy without being unrespectful or misunderstood."

"He might call you sometime soon," Hayden warned, his grey eyes burning with unsaid warnings.

"Ah," Solene stated simply, winking to Stella who was looking at the gowns scattered over the bed trying to decide what gown _she_ would wear. "And the plot thickens."

"That's _so_ cliché_!"_ Stella scolded.

"Still fits," Solene defended herself.

"You were right, dear," Amaellys announced, flouncing out of the dressing room in a pale yellow dress, "this one is much better."

"I thought you were already married, Ama," her uncle said disapprovingly.

"Not you too! Can't a lady have a little fun?" Amaellys cried in mock despair.

When Thranduil decided to give a party, all of Mirkwood felt the effects. The woodland king had ordered that the Great Halls be '_specially magnificent'_ and his people had obliged happily. Rumours about the unexpected guests were flying all day, leaving the court in excited expectation.

Legolas accompanied his father to the thrones, fashionably late as was Thranduil's custom, both clad in their finest aristocratic attires, complete with exquisitely crafted circlets of gold in their foreheads. Often the prince wore clothes that were in the middle ground between royalty and just fashionable, especially if it was an intimate party for friends and family, but tonight was a different thing. Apparently Thranduil had been somewhat insulted by the half elven's point of view about ruling systems.

_Elbereth Gilthoniel_, that meant even _more_ pomp and fanfare than normal in one of his father's banquets.

The herald announced the Antarian committee and the procession walked in, with several degrees of anxiousness. They were surely a sight for sore eyes, and the court would have something other than planning and doing festivals, reading books, taking care of the gardens or worse - organising campaigns to defend the realm from orcs and spiders- to do. They now had a whole new world to explore, a people who had kept themselves out of the ugliness of this world for all the ages of the sun and who had a rather interesting story themselves as well. The scribes would have lots of work to documentate the tales.

The peredhil walked towards the tables assigned to them, in their own country's traditional attire. Now _that _was going to provoke a revolution of sorts. The fabric of their clothes were just slightly less silky, the ladies' gowns just a little bit tighter, the neckline just a little bit lower. They seemed to be utterly comfortable with their own skin, even considering they were showing way too much skin in a foreign country banquet.

Legolas could see some of his friends arguing over who would call who to dance already.

"Today is a day that will mark both our histories," Thranduil spoke loudly as the half-elven were seated, "We welcome our kin, and hope you may come to consider this your home as well."

The hall erupted in applauses.

_'The old rascal was always good with speeches.' _Legolas thought with a small smile.

"To a new beginning," the king held his goblet high in the air, and the people – carefully chosen guests from the highest lines of Mirkwood, counsellors, marshals, close friends and family- cheered and toasted with him.

Legolas had the very strange feeling that one of the twins – the one seated at his side, in a strapless dress (and how on Middle-earth does she keep that thing from falling?)- was suppressing a fit of laughter, but that ought to be an impression. There was nothing in her face that showed anything but polite attentiveness.

Odd.

The food was outstandingly delicious, by the way.

Feriel, who was two seats from the prince, was flirting discreetly with the twin seated between himself and Herolin, his father – and surprisingly, the lady was giving him the cold shoulder, engaging Herolin in conversation instead; while Legolas observed amused the lady on his left trying to drink little enough not to get in too high spirits and enough to not appear offensive.

Herolin, the scoundrel, had inadvertently encouraged the lady he was talking to into speaking too much – that, or the strong wine of Mirkwood had loosened her tongue more than one should find proper. They did say peredhil were weak to alcohol. Legolas grew more and more alarmed as the lady proceeded with her conversation, oblivious to the stir she was causing.

"In Antar we have counsellors too, but of course!" her voice was not so loud, but in the pregnant expectancy of the room she might as well have shouted. "They're part of the King's staff. Under his authority are also the Ministers and the Senate. Most tiresome, in fact."

"Sounds like a complex thing, really," Herolin stated trying not to commit himself nor the realm. The counsellor had already heard most of it whilst Thranduil and Hayden talked.

"How does anyone understand it?" Feriel asked quietly, flabbergasted.

"One does not, most the time," Stella teased.

Now they had the attention of the whole table.

"It does sound complicated," Legolas tried to make amends, cursing the fact his father was uncharacteristically quiet and looking rather smug with his predicament, "for it is different. I think once we have some time to grow used to the idea it will not sound so strange."

_'Why do they not choose someone worthy of the rank and be done with it?'_ he thought to himself, giving his immediate neighbour a sympathetic smile. It must be hard to have a sister who thought creating awkward situations was fun.

Very much like Feriel. If those two hit it off, may the Valar help them!

"Somehow it works, and when it doesn't, we can always make reforms. But let us please change the subject, this is too pleasant an evening to discuss politics," Solene pleaded.

Legolas smiled relieved, along with some others on the table - from both allegiances. "Let us speak of other things then. Care to tell us a little of your tales and your music?"

The lady at his side – he wanted to bet she was the older girl, but one could not be sure really… - took some time to answer.

_That neckline's too low, period! And how can she act as if this is the most natural thing of the world?_

"Music cannot be told, only experienced," she said at last – definitely Solene -, "of tales we divide them in legends and fiction, the later being a tale that only happened in its creator's mind. You should ask Dalton some, I'm a rather poor story teller."

"Not so poor as you remember the sad ones better," Dalton protested. He was brother to the twin's foster mother, as Legolas remembered, and acted as a friend rather than as an uncle. At least with others around.

"Sadness has its own sweetness, methinks. What of you, Your Highness, what kind of tales you like better?" Solene asked as the servants removed the empty plates. Legolas smiled, throwing his lifelong friend Feriel a glance before answering.

"I like the ones about friendship better."

Feriel sobered from his flirting immediately, appreciating the thoughtfulness and meaning of the gesture. Both being only children, they had bonded easily in childhood, and it was often said in the halls that they completed each other. Legolas was more serious, whilst Feriel was a hopeless prankster.

After a couple of millennia, they even rubbed off on each other.

"And I particularly like the way in which you avoided the request," Feriel teased charmingly.

Before anything else could be said, Stella cut in, "She's great with getaways. Dalton himself has been trying to corner her for years."

_Definitely_ the woodland wine was too strong for her.

"However, I have much room for improvement when it comes to my choice of allies, even among my kin," the older twin answered, with an undeniable _stop this right now_ tone.

"Alas, slippery as a fish. My father is most intrigued, too. And Verlat is one very cunning creature. One of these days, Sol, you'll meet someone whose questions you cannot answer. I only hope I'm there to see it," Dalton said maliciously, winking at the twins.

"Gee, thanks," Solene hissed.

"She'd marry him, most likely," Stella winked back at her uncle.

"Stella!"

"Sorry," she said, not looking at all repentant.

Legolas could not help but laugh.

"It sounds like a challenge," Feriel turned an intent gaze upon Solene.

"It sounds like you are in need of rescue, milady," Legolas said smiling, trying to ease the redhead's apparent discomfort. Not that he could blame her, really.

_'Clearly, Antarians were not behind woodland elves in mischief-making'_Legolas thought, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I am most grateful. I realise a conspiration is unfolding, and it shall be wise to leave while I may. Where's the closest way out?" Solene said, only half-jesting.

"I shall escort you then. This way."

In spite of Legolas' efforts (it was all going downhill!), the guests seemed to think the teasing quite a nice ice-breaker, and even king Thranduil was in high spirits – but that could be in anticipation of all the teasing Thranduil would make Legolas suffer for rescuing the damsel in distress (regardless to the fact the king had taught his son to do so).

"What, leaving the arena so soon, my lady? A challenge was thrown, it is fair you give us a chance to take it. Would you not let me try to make such a question —" Feriel, to Legolas' dismay, rose up the second the prince took Solene's hand to take her out of the room, oblivious that his jesting had gone one step too far –the diplomat was practically begging to leave the room, embarrassed.

"You woodland folk sure are quick," Stella attacked him immediately, with a frown that was not entirely playful; earning a wave of reverberating laughter from the room. Her sister glared at her, but anyone could see the annoyance was half-hearted at best.

"Remember you get what you give, young lady," she warned Stella.

"Aye, I do," was the answer.

"I would, milord Feriel. You have your answer, and I bid my leave." Some people cheered across the room, delighted by the fact Feriel seemed to have met someone he could not outsmart. But they needed a decent duel. Legolas led her in the direction of the inner gardens of the southern quarter, noticing his father and Hayden were whispering back and forth like trickster elflings in primary school.

He better take her out soon or she'd not make it.

"Give the lad a decent chance, lady Solene. I give you my word no one would force you into marrying him," Thranduil asked with deceptive sweetness, and in the king's eyes Legolas saw such cold calculation it sent shivers down _his_ spine..

"Should I be afraid?" Solene asked Legolas, and he had the impression her body was too close. But it was not - she was a good arm's length from him.

He grasped her arm tighter. "Very."

"So be it. I'll give the lad a few words, if that is what he wants, and words only," she said graciously to Feriel, glancing across the room to see that she had, indeed, gathered quite the audience. Even the servants were now still. Dalton was _so_ paying for that.

"I am grateful, milady. But the lady threw quite the challenge in this room, and it is fair I return the favour in kind. I shall humbly ask of you to explain the nature of love."

Solene closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

_'Dalton, you're so friggin' dead!' _she thought angrily_._

"Tricky," she stated, while the elves in the halls were still discussing Feriel's question. Obviously, a simplistic answer would be crushed down mercilessly before them. How does one answer _that_, anyway?

Solene called for one of the servants and asked for a glass of water, which was brought with a rather supercilious expression of condescendence. Solene drank carefully, measuring the water against the light, making sure the water filled the glass halfway.

_If only they knew._

No one would take her down while she was trying to impress Legolas. _No way_.

Solene raised her goblet in full view. "A deceptively easy question. If that's what your young elves can do, I shall run whenever some of the oldest try to corner me for a debate." That got some chuckles from the audience. The redhead lady turned to Legolas, " what do you say, my lord… full or empty?"

"It is half-full," Legolas answered carefully. The glint of mischief in her eyes told him that Feriel was in deep trouble. And it also made Legolas analyse every word, looking for hidden meanings. Could it be she was asking whether elves considered peredhil more like elves or more like mortals?

He was probably over-reading it.

"Thank you. What do you say, dear uncle of mine. Since you put me in this situation it's only fair I drag you down with me."

"It's half-empty. And I'm not responsible for that either, at least not solely," Dalton replied good-naturedly.

_As if._

"Oh, yes. My dearest Stella, I haven't forgotten her. What do you say?" Solene turned to the direction where Stella was seated, half-hidden by Feriel's figure so the younger twin had to bend forward to be seen.

"The glass is not nearly tall enough. And I remember there was more water on it before, Sol."

Solene chuckled. "That's my girl," she said approvingly, "and now what of our eager pupil? What does he say of the glass?"

"It could do with some more water, methinks. But what of love?"

"Oh, yes. Love," Solene let go of Legolas' arm and walked towards Feriel, placing the goblet in his hands. "We all see the same thing, but hardly two agree on the definition. Love is a glass of water, my dear friend."

Feriel bowed and kissed Solene's hands for longer than was strictly necessary.

"Do I get to escape now?' Solene whispered as soon as she got herself free of Feriel.

"We rather, or else they'll never let us. This way, we'll be safe till the dancing begins."

When the doors closed behind them, the chattering was resumed as if all guests were long-time friends. They walked to the gardens in silence, as there were some people around, and Legolas was not quite sure of what to say to a lady who'd been so insulted in his house, by his friend. Legolas would have to have a conversation with Feriel, and quickly. If the prankster kept that pace, they could lose a potential ally.

"Will your friend be angry with me?"

The inner gardens were a beacon of light in that underground city. His mother had planned them carefully, filling the alleys of Taur-e-Ndaedelos with light and life. If it were not for them, more than half of the woodland elves might have found it impossible to live underground. The mere sight could lift one's spirits.

"Angry is the last thing he'll be, milady," Legolas replied with a slight frown. A talk with Feriel, most definitely, was in order. His friend would not escape.

"Do not hold it against Stella. She acted thusly because she knew I could bear it, and the incident would break that awkward atmosphere. She's probably comforting Feriel's bruised ego, the brat. My sister, not your friend."

"I'd rather say my friend is, not your sister."

They laughed.

But Legolas would not bypass how they had manipulated the situation, so silently, so carefully, as to influenciate everyone without being obvious. He'd be extremely careful with them.

The antarians may be less innocent than they look.


	5. Aggressive Negotiations

**Chapter four: Aggressive negotiations.**

ANAKIN: And when I got to them, we went into... aggressive negotiations.  
PADMÉ: "Aggressive negotiations," what's that?  
ANAKIN: Uh, well, negotiations with a lightsaber.  
PADMÉ: (laughing) Oh.

_Star Wars, Episode II: The Attack of the Clones_

**Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. October of 2923.**

Months had passed by and it would be winter soon. The committee of King Hayden was preparing to leave before the first snowfall. It had been decided that a few peredhil would stay behind as representatives; to learn more of the elven culture and teach the Eldar the antarian's way of life.

"I thought you'd be anxious to see your husband, Ama," Stella stated while folding her last gown into a roll of fabric and stuffing it into her bag.

"I am. But this is a whole new world I want to explore," Amaellys whispered wistfully, "and it's just a few more years. We'll go home the summer after the next. But what of you? Why are you not staying?"

"Dalton is staying," Stella replied crossly, as if that put an end to any discussion.

"I don't understand you," Amaellys complained loudly, enjoying the fact they were alone in the bedchamber and could speak with some privacy, "the guy is rather nice, you know? Apart from the whole royal thing. We could do with a permanent advocate in the elven nobility, too."

"No pressure, dear," the redhead hissed.

Legolas had been exceedingly discreet about his fancy –he had not even courted her, strictly speaking. But of course the Comyn of the caravan had found out within weeks (as if she could not tell it herself), and the speculation was driving her mad. It has long since stopped being funny and started being dangerous.

Stella was not the one who should get the attentions. She was the one who was to be loose to act, the one who would move in the shadows, learning all she could for the time she'd be in the spotlights.

Thankfully, Solene had managed to cause an impression and insinuate herself in the Mirkwood court.

Whatever had gone wrong?

_What_?

Both selves had talked at length about Legolas before. With Stella's future 'disappearance', it was simply not possible for her to become involved with anyone – Arien did not wish to leave any broken hearts on her trail.

Besides, it would not be possible to act as Stella once the younger self turned back in time. Arien would change, grow, mature in those future years of war and there was no way around the fact. Even then, they both felt the side effects of living with themselves all the time – opinions that had changed, ruthlessly frank comments about actions and thoughts, of every movement. In every thing, Stella could count with Solene's analysis of her, and vice versa.

One does not annulate _that_.

"None at all," Amaellys spoke quietly. "Is Solene staying?"

Leaving Solene behind would be a double-edged sword, and an unnecessary risk, as far as both selves were concerned. Both she'd be a painful reminder of what could have been and the chasm between her and the elven prince would grow even more.

"She's coming with me. With us. We're both anxious to enter the Youth Legislative Program, and if we miss it we'll have to wait for another five hundred years."

"Is she standing between you and the prince? Because I have this funny feeling she's trying to keep you apart. Honestly, Stella, there's _obeisance _and there's _subservience,_ you should not let her dictate your life thusly—"

"I do not _let_ her anything!" Stella cried hotly, throwing her bag on the ground for greater effect. "When I set my mind on anything, no one could stand on my path – you should know of that already. But you know not, _you know nothing!_

What there is between us is beyond your power of understanding. Solene and I are as one. And it's to put a stop on that ridiculous rubbish of yours that we are leaving. Don't you think I hear it? I'm sick and tired of all the things you whisper behind her back! You know _nothing,_ you have _no right_ of judging!"

"Stella, calm down," Amaellys pleaded, amazed at the violence of her foster sister's reaction.

"That's why we have to leave," Stella repeated.

**Antar, Antares. January 5th of 2924****.**

The king's committee arrived home with the most shockingly unbelievable news since the battle of the seven houses in the Age of Chaos – and a few people missing.

At first, antarians thought the missing ones were captured or slain. However King Hayden made an announcement, which made the speculation rise up to the stars – aye, the world had changed. Aye, the committee had been welcomed in nearly every realm they entered (with the obvious exception of the haradrim). And aye, there was a new evil rising on the horizon, and it was unlikely the Free People had strength enough to defeat it on their own.

The scribes were working non-stop to add three Ages of the Sun of Middle-earth history into Antarian Annals. Maps were drawn accounting the new shape of the world.

But most of all, people were discussing whether or not it was wise to join forces with the other Free people against Sauron.

But when the king called the candidates for the next election to discuss an alliance with Men and Elves against Sauron, Damon thought he had gone too far. For all that he cared elves and men were butchers who deserved that and much more.

The whole Sauron's threat story was too incredible. True, the easterlings were bothersome, but one had to be totally insane to go and attack a realm with thousands of peredhil. While the Sunland held about tens of thousands of people, Antares alone could fight them off. The royal guard had been watching them for half a century now.

The renegades would not be intimidated by a bunch of men.

In the beginning it had not been so. When the world was young, there had been a struggle between the Avari –the elves who did not travel west in the beginning of the world – and men. Those were dark times, with Melkor and his hunters afoot, and a handful of the two tribes stranged each other. There had been a struggle about the lands, right after the men appeared in the East of Middle-earth.

The first half-elven were born in those days, into a cold, unwelcoming world. There was no place for them in the known realms, so they wandered east as all the people were going to the western part of the continent, and built themselves a city in the east of the Arneth Mountains, beyond the Inland Sea. They called themselves renegades for a reason. In Antar they dwelt, safe from the world that did not want them.

It was not hard to find those who thought like him. Being a Comyn, it was all too easy to find those who were susceptible to fear and anger.

The traitors of Antar would be unmasked and punished. Especially those two babies who thought they could simply walk in and bat their eyelashes, and get all they wanted – including destroying Antar and their way of life.

What care should Antar have if the Outer World was paying for their sins? Why should they help them?

Damon walked hurriedly into Tepalé's house, where their meeting would take place for the night. It was both large and discreet enough for that end. The doors were opened when he reached the courtyard and a quick glance told the redhead they were all there.

"Colleagues," he started, when he had sat on a couch, facing all the people he had gathered, "Dark times are ahead of us. Blinded by the honeyed traps of the snakes we have sheltered in trust, the leaders of this nation are now selling their souls –our souls – to the very ones that slighted us in the past."

"They are but receiving the just salary for their past transgressions," Damon continued, growing pleased as he saw his audience giving him their full attention. What they were planning would be viewed as nothing short of betrayal, frowned upon at best and condemned with all the might of the law at worst. Damon cared not; as long as Antar was saved. "The moment our enemies see themselves free from their actual threats, they'll turn their malice upon us once again."

"I thought they'd see it for themselves," said Arnon, governor of En Arris, "for they took with themselves many who are old and wise. Once in the outer world, I hoped they would see through the enemy's plots. But they return tamed and docile, speaking of alliance. _Alliance_! That's preposterous."

"The said wise and mighty might have his judgement clouded with lust," Tepalé added bitterly. She had been Dalton's partner for many a centuries, but the green-eyed renegade had slighted her of late and she was blaming the full blame on the redhead children. "I've seen the way Dalton looks at her, how he rumours Solene's every wish in hopes he can lure her to his bed. Selton is thrilled with the joys of parenthood after so long a time, for his own children are grown and so are his grandchildren. With those two alone the _child_ has more than enough influence on the king."

"And now," said Dayton, a very ambitious half-elf with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, "Hayden says the woodland court is rather fond of them. I cannot help but wonder what of it is coincidence – and what is deliberate. It seems there are too many fortunate coincidences when it comes to the twins."

"We must save Antar," muttered Ultan, a senator not at all pleased with the reforms suggested to the Constitution and the Republic.

"The plan is rather simple," Dayton jumped for the practical aspects of their little rebellion. "We shall capture the traitors before they have chance to plea before the senate and _convince_ them to confess, and henceforth abstain from forcing such indignity upon our country. They must be made to understand this idea is absurd and treason. Before the Hearing."

"If we fail, if we are delayed... There will be no stopping the speculation. May the good Lord help us, they even gained the sympathy of the younger generations, those who are too young to remember the Age of Chaos and before," Damon agreed, silently wondering what they'd do if the worst come to worst. He had met his target a couple of times in the backstage of the Senate, touring hand-in-hand with their foster father and sisters – and the girls were rather adorable, blast them, intelligent, funny and deliciously haughty, inconvenient and too sure of themselves.

"We must do so before the accursed Acts are approved by the Senate, " Lavignia stated, a very ambitious, intelligent, and loyal (to the idea of Antar as it was) woman who worked as a co-ordinator for inter-province treaties.

There would be no turning back once they started – they all knew it, and they all were willing to take the risks if that meant their country and culture were saved.

Not all of them had exactly the same motives, they all had the same goal – all but one.

But no one would know until it was too late.

**Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos, March 21st of 2924 (not entirely sure I should put this scene so soon...)**

Legolas sighed heavily.

Taur-e-Ndaedelos was more than the cave-cities. Actually, the cave was for the court and its staff, cellars and dungeons and the rooms for the King's treasure for most of the woodland elves lived in tree-apartments nearby. However, there were tunnels and caves under the hill that ensured that, should the need arise, the wood's people would be able to find shelter for as long as it was necessary. There was a dark, cold river before the cave, with a large bridge – and at the back of the palace, barrels were thrown up and down the river as they kept active commerce with the people of lake-town.

Obviously, Legolas lived within the halls. That is, he would be found there whenever there were banquets or official matters, when his father called him for council or simply for company. And when, for whatever other reason, he was hindered from escaping.

He was, much like the other elves, a being of open spaces and more inclined to hunting and merrymaking than to being locked in one of the offices (thought he would do that if called upon). However, he was silent and quiet in the past months, his own mind was suddenly a mystery to him.

If his mother were around, he could use her help sorting his thoughts into some semblance of order. Thranduil could be a little overwhelming sometimes. There were certain things he just could not talk about (even though he suspected his father knew most of them anyway), present situation included.

It was such a weight to bear; Legolas dared not speak of it to anyone. Some antarians still lingered in Mirkwood and they were getting along wonderfully with the woodland people –his initial insight was proven true, they were really as mischievous and playful as the sylvan people. In all things the guests were merry, if still a bit wary. Malicious, and yet naive to the borders of ignorance. Yet, in all the excitement, Legolas was restless. There was a big question mark in his mind.

Feriel noticed, but respected his privacy. Elbereth, even Garand realised.

But they did not, could not have known the reason.

What tore him at twain was that he was confused. And Legolas detested being confused. It was not in his nature to be undecided or divided. The prince had always set a goal before him and worked hard to accomplish it, with a dedication and perfectionism that was nearly obsessive.

Focus. Concentration. Discipline.

He was his father's family, heir, ally, his right arm and his proxy. The one who would go to the patrol borders when Thranduil was prevented from doing so, who would deal with the Master of Dale in their political alliances, or rule the palace if Thranduil himself went down the river to deal with the mortals. So far the king had asked him to stay near home, and he had not yet visited any of the other elven realms, but should the situation call for it, it would be up to him. The Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Thranduilion. For that he had been raised, for that he had been trained, and he never complained. Although he yearned for adventure, the prince had discipline enough to sacrifice his desires for the greater good of his people (even because it was not such a sacrifice after all, he would have the rest of eternity to do as he pleased).

Legolas loved Mirkwood and Mirkwood loved Legolas.

But when a certain pair of ladies entered his life, the delicate balance in which he held himself was blown away. He knew not their lineage, nor their age for that matter – all he had heard was that they were young, and something about a good-natured wager on how old they would be -, though it was hinted they were very young. He knew next to nothing about them, wrapped in mystery like a veil.

So alike and yet so different. There were slight shadows in their eyes that belied a past pain. But they were gay as little sparrows and curious as puppies. Each awoke on him a different reaction. And that was the reason of his perturbation –he was having some very un-elven-like thoughts.

That could not be good. Certainly the Valar would curse him for that.

Elves were better than that. Elves had perfect control of their bodies and desires. The deceptive carnal desire or any other craftiness could not fool elves. Subjecting to raw lust often led to doom, to fall, to degradation. That was the way they were – the Children of Iluvatar, the jewel of his creation.

"Legolas?"

The door was opened and a person came in, Legolas simply had not the heart or will to tell him to go away. He did not move, continuing to stare out his window (he had a window, being a prince and all) to the inner gardens. There was a minute interval before the prince turned to meet his sire, clad in light green and golden, with a crowd of young leaves upon his forehead. Thranduil, unlike other rulers, enjoyed the passing seasons and celebrated them rather than merely acknowledging them.

"Yes, father?"

"There is no use in brooding like that, my son. The lady shall return in a few years."

Sometimes, it was hard having a father so perceptive.

"I know, Ada," Legolas answered meekly, lowering his gaze so Thranduil wouldn't see the storm in them, "it is only that my mind is uneasy. Everything is so confusing."

"I've been in love once, you know? I quite remember how it feels like," Thranduil said with a small smile and one arched eyebrow, an expression Legolas unconsciously imitated sometimes. In many things, he had taken on his father's side.

Legolas chuckled. "So I've been told. It's just..."

"It's just... what?"

"I wonder how I'll know if she's the right one."

Thranduil sombered, and squeezed Legola's shoulder. "Legolas, this is the first time you are smitten by a lady. Seriously, at least. Unless that thing with Luilliel was deeper than you made me believe..."

Legolas blushed deeply. How could he answer it without making little of the lady or exaggerating his own feelings? "'Twas long ago, father. I had not thoughts of anything more than a few kisses – not at first, at least, until we could –"

"Enough!" the older elf cried, suppressing laughter. Legolas could be spared that, the poor child was stuttering – and that hadn't happened in sixteen centuries! -, "I need not to know everything, lad. I tell you only this, give time to time. Know the lady better, listen to your own heart when it starts making some sense."

Legolas nodded. Problem was, by the glitter in his father eyes, he could not tell exactly what Thranduil was up to.

And that was extremely unnerving.

"Let us go, it's been a while since we hunted together, and the stores are low. Feriel has been asking for you."

"I have neglected him whilst I was thinking."

"You may be granted privacy when you need, but do not forget your friends. Although I was under the impression Feriel's idea of diversion involved a certain she-elf ranger."

"Oh no," Legolas dismissed his father's erroneous – a very rather occurrence – assumption, and began to dress for a hunt in the woods, "Feriel is luring her for himself. He's been smitten by her for a few years now."

**Antar, Antares. March 25th 2924.**

The senate looked much like a Greek amphitheatre, even if the antarians had no way of knowing it. Unlike the royal residence, popularly called The Blue Palace, it was open and often visited even by those who did not work there at the time. Delegations went in and out of the stony shell and the three-stores edifice adjacent, where the offices and archives were.

The orators were at the said edifice, rehearsing the speech they would use to pledge the alliance and gain the not-so-few still doubtful senators to their cause.

Selton strode to the office where his old friend Damon was waiting for a meeting. Damon showed frank uneasiness concerning the opening of Antar, and Selton wanted to dismiss all the doubts the redhead might have on the matter. Dalton had been quite detailed in his reports, and Selton had adopted a more open attitude in face of the undeniable threat all Middle-earth faced, not only Antar.

But others had to be convinced of it. Antar was a democracy after all, and they needed popular support.

The first thing Selton noted upon arriving was the silence –the senate was seldom quiet, and _never_ silent. The second thing he noticed was that some Comyn had thrown a small-range shield around the area, making it difficult for him to sense the occupants of the building. Selton rarely pried into anyone's mind, he knew the value of privacy, but not being able to see his surroundings clearly was greatly distressing. It was a skill he had oft used as an elfling to escape the predators, in special cases balrogs, dragons, Melkor's Hunter, and also straying groups of orcs. Scanning the environment had vital for him when such beasts roamed Middle-earth, and few of the first wanderers that built Antar lacked the gift. The third thing was that there were no guards in position.

There had always been guards in position, even if it was only for show and they were more of guides than they were guards. There had hardly been work for them since the Age of Chaos, when the walls around the city were still under construction and the magic that protected them still being cast. Those first years of the republic had been incredibly stressful. However, as the easterlings became more and more of a threat – not that any antarian really believed the men were a _threat_, they were much too sure of their high walls and magic - but yet, the guards had had a lot more of work lately. There was more of them keeping watch over the walls, and over the secret passages into the city. And never had Selton walked into the senate without meeting at least five of them near the entrance.

That could not be good.

Selton tugged at his dark blond hair for a second, trying to decide what to do. The first instinct was to flee, for that was what he'd done every time he had met a menace in his path. What's a young elfling to do against a group of goblins? He wanted to live, and hopefully find a group of people who cared about him, a place where he could belong. The minute shock was overcome and Selton seized his possibilities. He could walk in and try to find out what was going on – not really an option, for all suggested that what threat there was, would not be overcome by one elf only. Not when at least five guards were missing.

Selton requested a fellow passer-by his horse and rode to the Royal Guard headquarters, not really far from the senate. The first person Selton saw was the lieutenant Deriel, whom he called out immediately.

"Have you not sent anyone to the Senate today?" the blonde asked, forgetting the usual greetings.

Deriel was, of course, quite baffled by both his friend's discourtesy – highly unusual – and agitation – even more unusual. "Of course I did, my friend. Fifteen men keeping the senate, as usual."

"They are not there."

"I beg your pardon? One might have left to guide someone to an office or anything, but—"

"There is not _one_ guard in sight. And the whole building is wrapped in a shield," Selton countered, frantic-mad with his increasing worry. Such thing had never happened before.

That made Deriel stop. A shield. That could only mean a deliberate Comyn attack or something like it.

"You'll need to shield us, milord," Deriel commanded. A few runners were sent to gather the guards not in service that day, while the others forty-five rode straight to the senate to investigate. The building was still eerily silent when they arrived, with no one in sight.

It was as if there was no one there at all.

When the Royal Guard entered the building hell broke loose. A few rebels were still at the building waiting for the last missing targets, whilst the others had long escaped with the king and his committee (who were very angry about their position, by the way. Unfortunately they had been unarmed, and were easy preys to the rebels). The skirmish left the Official buildings area and spread to the streets. It was hard to know whom was with whom, and for the first time ever the whole of the military personnel was required to restore order in the country. By dawn they had located the king and the rebels' hiding place, a secluded groove not far from the city. There was a stalemate as no antarian desired to willingly end another's life, but there were several who were injured then.

The struggle degenerated then when there was division amongst the insurrectionists. Apparently one of them tried to force the others to sublevate the government and take the power, and the others backed down. They were all strong in their beliefs Antar should remain as it was before, and that was in fact the cause of the conflict; and thus the movement was ended with several elves surrendering.

Ordinarily, the traitors should be condemned to exile. However, the ruling government did not wish to threaten the delicate trust that Hayden had managed to build with the outer world releasing such bigoted people, so they were taken into custody instead. The few fallen were mourned, and Antar kept to itself for the next few decades.

Ordinarily, Antar would be busy with the task of electing the next representatives. There was also the point of putting some order in the house, so to speak, so they could appear united and firm when dealing with other people. Things were just too turbulent within the borders to complicate matters more.

**Lonely Mountains, October 13th of 2941.**

It was quite obvious that Gilmador had been less than thrilled to have the last two remaining crowded heads of Mirkwood in a battlefield. Even if the said battle had not yet begun and, if worse came to worst, would be wagged against thirteen dwarves cornered in the mountain. It mattered even less that the said crowded heads were accompanied by five hundred elven warriors with bows, swords and spikes; and that there was also a considerable number of the men of Dalle.

Men who were growing rather incensed for the dwarves' lack of good-will, given that the men _had _received the beforementioned dwarves when they needed aid, and the dwarves _had_ also angered the dragon and indirectly caused the destruction of the city in the lake.

Now how on Eru's green Middle-earth had those dwarves escaped Thranduil's dungeons? They had appeared in Mirkwood a few weeks ago, trying to chase a few merrymakers for food. They had been so hungry the woodland elves had no problems about enchanting them to sleep and bringing them to the King. Their leader, Thorin Oakenshield, had been infuriatingly close-mouthed and that had been a very unwise move, for it angered Thranduil greatly. The king ordered the dwarves to be incarcerated till they told what business they had in that area. However, the dwarves had mysteriously disappeared in the Autumn Festival, and it was some time before the elves had news of them. The Lake-town Master had sent word they were in his city. And then the dwarves had set off to the Lonely Mountain.

Then the dragon had attacked Lake-town, and the people of Dalle had begged Thranduil's aid for they were left with no home and very little food. Thankfully, Bard had been able to shoot the dragon Smaug down and the damage had not been as great as it could have been.

A man shooting down a dragon. Every day one would grow wiser, Legolas thought, for he knew only one man who had ever killed such a beast, and that man had been Turin Turambar, long ago.

This time, however, none of the royalty had been open to discussion. 'Twas not such a perilous mission after all, and things were oddly quiet since the Wise had finally set out to destroy Dol Guldur. Legolas had just been delivered the news when Gandalf appeared in Taur-e-Ndaedelos looking for the dwarves and for a being he called hobbit. Not that Legolas had ever had the chance to meet the creature, he must have died in the spider webs. Pity.

And there were more than enough councillors to rule Mirkwood for a fortnight or two, the prince had vehemently protested. It was not all the time he could see his father in all his shrewd and cunning glory, and the younger elf intended to make full advantage of that. Even if there would hardly be a chance for anything dangerous to take place, Legolas wanted to be at Thranduil's side, and that was it. Thranduil himself had not been able to convince him otherwise.

Mirkwood gossips had increased exponentially with the dwarves escape incident and the royal family argument. It had been a rather lively conversation, so to speak. Not that the elf-king had tried very hard, however. Thranduil was too moved by the prince's thoughtfulness to be too tough.

Besides, it would be only a show to force the dwarves' co-operation.

Legolas decided to camp with his father rather than with his regiment, but spent most of his free time with his friends. He would offer advice and support whenever called on, but a lifetime of etiquette ensured he would not get in the way.

"Do you think it will take much longer?" asked Garand, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. They had been there for a couple of days, and the fabled dwarfish temper was proving true to its fame. Two times the men of Dalle had sent for Thorin to discuss a treat, and twice they had been sent back with rude words.

"I do not know," Legolas answered truthfully. "They seem exceedingly stubborn."

"Now come, Legolas," Eamane cut in, merrily , "dwarves and stubborn are synonyms."

"True enough," Garand laughed.

"They do not wish to negotiate with either father or Bard. I fear there shall be no middle ground with them," Legolas stated quietly when the laughing subdued enough.

He was also trying to make some sense of what he had heard his father muttering. "_Honourable little burglar_," and _'a most reputable little creature.'_ Those sentences did not suit his father. Especially when all Middle-earth knew he held no love for the dwarves.

'_He's up to something_,' Legolas thought.

Amazing how his father managed to be an enigma even to him.

At that moment five hundred dwarves appeared in the plain, demanding to be let into the mountain – for the king, true to his warrior's fame, had swiftly blocked the reinforcement's way. If those dwarves reached Thorin the 'easy mission' would degenerate into a viscious battle, the likes of which were responsible for Gilmador's neurotic protectiveness. Thorin had surprisingly agreed to yield not long before, but with the reinforcements he would not negotiate anymore.

And the elves would be damned if they retreated before the dwarves.

"Company!" Gilmador cried and the small chat was cut off immediately, "Be at ready!"

"Fools!" Legolas heard Bard crying nearby. The man was leading his own people but he was close enough to Thranduil and Gandalf to negotiate with them and compare tactics. "To come thus beneath the mountain's arm! They do not understand war above ground, whatever they might know about battle in the mines," Bard stated, pointing to the line of dwarves in perilously open position. They had not retreated, but rather contoured the mountain.

But Thranduil surprised Legolas then, and that really made the trip worth his while. They had gone through all that trouble to receive some part in the spoils (Apparently the dwarves were not the only one who had been robbed by Smaug and Thranduil refused to let them have what had been his).

"Long will I tarry, ere I begin this war for gold. The dwarves cannot pass us, unless we will. Let us hope for something that will bring reconciliation. Our advantage in numbers will be enough, if in the end it must come to unhappy blows."

The dwarves were not of such mind. They sprang forth and to attack, and so did men and elves, ready for battle. There would be no reconciliation.

"And to think I almost missed the fun!" Feriel cried on Legolas' right, as they assumed their combat positions.

"We couldn't let that happen, now could we?" Legolas answered good-naturedly, readying an arrow in the string. Then a dark cloud appeared in the sky, bat-like creatures moving fast against the wind, and Gandalf's cry pierced the air.

"Halt, dread has come upon us! The goblins from the north are coming! They ride upon wolves and wargs are in their train!"

Now how had that wizard perceived that? Even the keen eyes of the elves had not made it out yet. _'Must be a wizard skill_,' Legolas wondered amazed, retreating his arrow. Gilmador had immediately given them orders to hold their fire and await new instructions, and the elven army was nothing if not disciplined. Men were following their lead.

"Come," Gandalf called out again, "there is yet time for council. Let Dain son of Nain come swiftly to us!"

Upon the overwhelming numbers of the common enemy, it was agreed that Men, elves and dwarves would fight together.

"We are to lure them into the valley between the arms of the mountain," Gilmador explained to his company. He was to lead the decoy whilst the king would stay at the rearguard with the major force waiting to close the trap upon the goblins as soon as they were in the desired position. "Be true, for the defence must hold until the others join us. I want three lines of archers there," he pointed an imaginary line in the valley.

Legolas assumed his position with Feriel, Eamane, Garand and Laedlin. '_This was supposed to be an easy mission," _he thought bitterly_, "that should teach you never to be caught off guard. If father had come with few escorts they'd have to run for their lives, but they'd likely be dead.'_

The goblins were descending into the valley, mad with rage and in wild formation, holding black and crimson banners.

_"Hado I philinn!"_ Gilmador cried, and a wave of arrows felled many of the nearest goblins. Legolas shot most of his arrows before they were close enough for the prince to need his twin knives, knowing each would hit its target with deadly accuracy. They were in an awkward position, and badly outnumbered- that should not be much of an issue, if they had provisions and ammunition enough for a battle of that magnitude. But the elves had not.

The elves were relentless and furious, for their hatred for goblins was legendary, and the ground was soon soaked in black blood. When it was no longer possible to shoot, they attacked with swords and spears, till the goblin's onslaught had turned into a weak struggle. The dwarves approached the foul beasts from one side and the men from the other, closing the trap securely. The goblins panicked and scattered trying to meet the new attack, but the elves went for them again.

Victory was near.

But just then, another wave of goblins came from the other side of the mountain, which they had climbed, and with them came a host of wargs. Bard fought to keep his ground, but he was forced to retreat.

A great cry pierced the air. Thorin had left his mountain to aid in the war effort. But they were few, so very few, and the goblins were pushing them back. Although their combined efforts had managed to shorten thee goblin's numbers, the foul beasts surrounded men and elves and dwarves again. Together they stood, that unlikely alliance, fighting back to back in a hopeless combat. Men and elves were slowly being beaten down, and corpses lay scattered on the valley, along with the many orcs they had felled.

Legolas looked around as he pulled with measured violence his knife from a goblin's chest, trying to discern where his friends would be. In the heat of battle, he had lost sight of quite a few of them, and the prince found hard to think they could be dead. Death is an unnatural thing to elves, even when Legolas had witnessed, powerless, some of them being killed, their lives vanishing and their fair faces falling to the ground. There would be no hope of bringing the aid of a healer for them before it was too late. And he also worried for his father, the only close kin he had, and wished Thranduil was safe somewhere in that mayhem.

Legolas waited too long in that search, pulling himself back a fraction of second before a rustic scimitar could collide with his chest, and blocking the attack with the knife in his left arm. His right arm was rendered useless, for he was wounded, but he was not defeated yet and cut the goblin's belly open. A quick blow tore the goblin's throat ensuring the prince would no longer worry about that one.

"The eagles!" someone shouted, "the eagles are coming."

And come they did, powerful and immense, and from the very air they jumped down in precise attacks that scattered the goblins as the great eagles hunted them. Before dusk it was over, and the goblins were burnt with warg and wolf; and the elves and men could tend to their wounded and care for the fallen.

As fate would have it, much of the victory was indebted to the little hobbit, whom Legolas saw only in glimpse when the healers released him. (His shoulder wound had poison in it and the healing was a delicate matter) A tentative truce was settled with the dwarves that would from then live on The Lonely Mountain and the elves could return home, with the men of Dalle and Gandalf and his hobbit. Thranduil invited the burglar to his house but Bilbo refused, he was hasty to return home with Gandalf. He did, however, offer Thranduil a respectable pearl and silver necklace in payment for al the food and drink the hobbit had sneaked when he was trying to free his dwarf-friends.

And so the mystery of their escape was solved – somewhat.

With the dragon gone and with the destruction of Dol Guldur, Mirkwood breathed freely once again. There would be some peace in the years to come.


	6. Court and Pledge

**Chapter five: Court and Pledge.**

_"Love is patient and kind; it is not jealous or conceited or proud;_

_Love is not ill-mannered or selfish or irritable; love does not keep a record of wrongs, love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth._

_Love never gives up; its faith, hope, and patience never fail.'_

_Bibble, 1 Corinthians 13,4-7._

**Rivendell, May 22nd of 2950****.**

Legolas sighed contentedly. He was on a particularly bright phase of his life, and could not help but feeling excited.

Dol Guldur had been emptied, thanks to the White Council. Thranduil had not really believed it till it was done, the prince remembered. Esgaroth was recovering nicely from the past tribulations; as the dragon Smaug was dead. King Nain under the Mountain and his folk did not bother them much, as both races had achieved a silent pact of non-aggression – and minimal contact.

All that had made Mirkwood regain much of his former peace and the merry woodland folk had put themselves into restoring the woods with a vengeance. The spiders had been pushed back into the south till almost Dol Guldur, the occasion orc attack had become more and more rare due to the dedication of the patrols. The woodsmen had resumed the use of the old road of the forest – Thranduil did not mind the men (much) for as long as they kept some healthy distance from his Halls.

Thanks to the increased safety of the woods (still not complete, but one of the greatest they had seen since the Watchful peace) his father had given him a rather unexpected and much appreciated begetting day gift. Thranduil had offhandedly told him, on the day before his two thousand nine hundred and fortieth begetting day, that he'd like Legolas to go ad see how things were faring on Imladris.

Of course the king knew his son and that the prince itched to visit the other elven realms since he had learned of them. And off Legolas went, with only half a dozen escorts – a surprising liberty, considering the woodland king's zeal concerning his only son –on the road to Rivendell. The Last Homely House would be hard to find for all those who knew not the way, but Gilmador had offered to lead the group there and Thranduil accepted his offer.

Given that captain Gilmador was nearly as paranoid as Thranduil, mayhap the lack of escorts was not really so surprising in the end.

The woods became scarce when the city itself came within eyesight. Endless blue rooftops on tall, elegant creamy buildings; statues and gardens out in the open – opposed to the inner gardens of Taur-e-Ndaedelos- and delicate graceful bridges over the Bruinen. The favoured architectural form was the arch, and everything was open to the outside world.

Rivendell was exquisite.

Gilmador sensed the young's prince eagerness, for he urged the march faster, and they arrived the gates of the city in two hours. The prince dismounted quickly and stood there, transfixed, entranced by the beauty around him. He did not pay attention to the servant who quietly led the horses to the stables, nor to the merry chatter of his friends on his backs. But he did pay attention to a laughing musical voice emerging from one of the buildings on his left.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?" she said, and he recognised the voice immediately.

Had Legolas any doubt about his father's shrewdness, they'd be vanished right then. Thranduil had kept a loose correspondence with the antarians, particularly Hayden and Dalton. Legolas had no illusions that the lady's presence there when he finally was given leave to visit had been coincidence.

"Mae Govannen, milady," he said bowing, cursing himself for not being able to tell the twins apart. "'Tis really beautiful."

"It's Solene," she whispered conspirationally, touching a golden sun-shaped charm on her neck. "We decided to wear these to help others tell us apart. Stella has a star-shaped charm."

Legolas smiled devilishly, "I'll remember that- _Solene._"

The redhead bid her leave after greeting the other members of his committee and walked off to the east. Legolas then gathered himself back together before his companions started teasing him – he was there as his father's representative, and it should do him good o keep the woodland mirth under some sort of control. A tall, dark-haired elf was awaiting for him at the entrance of the main building, and Legolas bid his group to approach him.

"Mae Govannen, I am Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood," he greeted the dark elf, then introduced him to all of his companions.

"Suilad," the dark elf answered him. "I am Erestor, lord Elrond's head councillor. The lord of Imladris is coming soon, and bid me to show you your quarters."

"Many thanks, lord Erestor. But if it would not be a problem, I'd like to explore a little. Long have I desired to visit this place."

Erestor gave him a slight smile, and Legolas wondered if he had somehow offended him or something. Seemed unlikely. "You may explore as your heart desires, lord Legolas."

No, he'd only been a little impulsive. Apparently the older elf-lord found it terribly amusing.

"The sons of Elrond shall be back from the patrol later this week," Erestor informed him, leading the group through the corridors of the main building, and informing them what the rooms were – library, Great Hall, Dining Hall, the Music Room, the tunnel that led to the training fields and stables, and the kitchens. "These shall be your rooms," the dark haired elf told them, separating one room for Legolas and giving each member of the committee his own quarters close to their prince.

He then bid his leave and left, it was obvious that in Imladris the guests were very much left loose to enjoy themselves lest there was some official business to handle.

Legolas loved the change.

~'*'~

After the rebellion, things had been chaotic in Antar. When Hayden stepped down from kingship, Selton and Verlat had been candidates for the election- with remarkable grace considering Verlat was Selton's father-in-law. Selton won but only just. 'Twas the fifth time Selton served thus, and after the dusk settled down he sent his foster daughters as ambassadors on a diplomatic visit to ensure that the channels were open. The twins tried to stay home, but their experience was required and the trip should be a quick one anyway.

Pyrrhus and Eillian went with them as escorts and extra-official councillors. Pyrr was a good friend of the family and Eillian was one of Selton's Ministers and had been the twins' professor in the Legislative Program. That way Selton felt all his corners were covered.

He really did not wish to send his children to the outer world, but they had lived there long and proved to be quite capable of surviving. As it would be too suspicious not to go, Stella and Solene travelled to Imladris. Mirkwood was, so far, ensured, as Hayden and Dalton kept something of a correspondence with the woodland king. When the quartet arrived in Rivendell, Stella's fear multiplied tenfold. Many of the elves who dwelt there had met her mother in the past and quickly picked up the similarity- only her young age stood between her and unmasking.

She had made a mistake and spoke about some of the fighting techniques they had learned with the men with Glorfindel. The elf-lord firmly stated that if she wanted to learn the real sport, she had to learn it the elven way.

Which was why Stella was sweating in the training field on that fine spring day whilst Solene was off riding with Pyrr and Eillian – the only time she had to talk to them freely.

Stella parried and blocked with questionable efficiency whilst Glorfindel gave her more of those amazing thrusts and swings he was capable of. It was really hard to fight while keeping her mind shut against the Lord of the Vanyar.

And he was one hell of a fight, too.

"You're leaving your left side open for attack. Protect your stomach." The blonde elf said.

If she had met Glorfindel before Legolas, the young prince of Mirkwood could say his golden romance dreams _namarie_. Glorfindel was absolutely gorgeous. She could honestly say she had hardly met a male that attractive- Dalton was like a god, with his mysterious character, Pyrr was a walking magnet to anything female. But Glorfindel was... Glorfindel.

He was also thirteen and a half millennia old, unbelievably powerful and one of the strongest Comyn she had ever met.

Plus, she had already met Legolas and the prince was _not _an elf easily forgotten.

"Ouch!" Stella cried and dropped her sword to the ground, swinging her hand in the air and kissing the knuckles that had received a strong blow from Glorfindel's sword hilt. She kissed her hand in the age-old human gesture of soothing the pain. Glorfindel stared at his pupil, no doubt amused at such a mortal action on an elven lady.

"I _was_ raised among mortals," Stella defended herself.

"So I have been told," the vanya replied flatly. [1] "You put too much strength in your attack and leave your guard down sometimes. Let's try again – focus on your defence. And keep the sword on your hands."

Stella groaned but placed herself obediently and started fighting again.

It was damn hard fighting with him, but if she wanted to survived the War of the Ring she better learn everything. At the end of the day, when all her muscles were sore and Solene came back from her ride, the blond elf escorted them back into the house.

**Rivendell, June 22nd of 2951****.**

Legolas would do anything in his power to visit Imladris as often as he could. Although the people there were somewhat more reserved than the sylvan elves, there was an air of tranquillity in the valley that soothed him. Everything was as it was supposed to be: calm, peaceful, full of life. Although he missed the Summer Feast, the daily gatherings near the fire for song and chat made up for it.

The prince of Mirkwood was perceptive enough to realise there was a veiled strain regarding his lady friends. A wariness, watchful and cautious... as if they were waiting for a mistake. Sometimes Legolas noticed one of the elder habitants of Rivendell watching whilst Solene read, or while Stella was '_up and about_' in the lands, and it was almost as if they were recognising something.

And he somehow doubted the correspondence between Imladris and Lothlórien was usually so frequent.

But as long as he was not yet sure of his heart's desires, he busied himself with other chores. Legolas was happy to befriend the young lords of Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir, elflings of his own age and rank – although the twin sons of Elrond had far more freedom of movement than Legolas had.

Must be something about coming from a large family.

There was also the mortal scoundrel, Estel son of lady Gilraen. His lineage was kept secret under orders from lord Elrond himself, and the lad grew up in blissful ignorance of his heirloom and responsibility. Most the time they roamed the lands together, making mischief – Legolas taught Estel how to make a few nice tricks – and engaging each other in mock combats, hunting and patrolling the borders. The young prince of Mirkwood only wished his friend Feriel had come with them, for Feriel would liven up the city even more.

"A coin for your thoughts," Estel announced solemnly, sneaking on him with considerable stealth for a mortal.

"Are you not forgetting yourself, lad? You shall need to increase the offer if you wish to know my mind," Legolas answered good-naturedly, laughing as he tore his eyes from the training before him. It was not unheard of for a lady to bear arms, yet he had to admit that he found the sight unsettling.

Even if he was forced to concede that a lady who lived alone on the roads should have to acquire some fighting skills.

Glorfindel, who for some reason took upon himself to hone the ladies' skills, was giving instructions to the twins whilst they parried with each other. The better aspect of the sparring was that they obviously knew each other well, and thus there was great balance in their fighting. However, he could see how unrefined the moves were, how raw and brusque. Here and there, there was a movement that should definitely come from some form of combat technique, an echo of old training. Most of the motions were alien to him, yet unpolishedly effective.

"Maybe I shall not need to spend that coin, after all," Estel declared smugly.

"You see much, young child. Too much," Legolas covered, bringing Estel's head down forcefully as the lad laughed loudly.

"Ai Legolas, not so hard!" Estel cried, struggling to break free of the blonde's grasp. From behind a tree Elladan jumped at Legolas, and soon the two princes were engaged in their own game, all else forgotten.

"It's too brazen of you to come here and attack my little friend, wood elf," Elladan sneered, but spoiled the effect by laughing.

"He deserved it," Legolas replied, swinging his legs to escape a kick in the shin. He stood up and faced the dark elf warily, with only the hints of laughter in his eyes.

Elladan smirked openly.

"He often does," the son of Elrond admitted, "but I reserve myself and my family the right to correct him. Father is very fond of the brat."

"Hey!" Estel objected.

"Come," Elladan invited, giving Estel a little wink, "Elrohir has already prepared our horses for us to see the waterfalls."

"We may not be his company of choice, mellon," Estel added maliciously, sure in the knowledge that Elladan was meant to have heard their conversation before, and thus there was no break of confidence.

"Alas, I know," Elladan said, helping his mortal friend up, "but we may help our friend be familiar with the site so he can bring there his... company of choice."

"You two are hopeless," Legolas muttered.

"Nah, we are actually very hopeful. I'd be delighted if you were forced to concede my aide was instrumental in winning a certain redhead friend of yours," Elladan countered carefully, delighted with the violent red of Legolas' face. So far, there was only one doubt in Rivendell, and that was which one Legolas was in love with.

Sometimes it looked as if the prince did not know it himself.

"Are the waterfalls far away?" Legolas wanted to know.

"A couple hours ride," Estel answered. "We'll be back in time for supper."

**Rivendell, August 22nd of 2950****.**

Solene couldn't help herself, she got lost in the music.

It was all so enthralling in the house of Elrond. The food, the books, the music, and the conversation. Solene decided she did not wish to leave anytime soon, not when she was feasting so. A whole new horizon opened before her hungry eyes beckoning exploration.

Every once in a while she would join her alter ego Stella on the 'training lessons' with Glorfindel – which were more like a youth brawl with a _ninja sensei_, if she thought hard about it. But most the time she spent exploring the city itself and the extraordinary library they had in there.

Her young self could spend some time dealing with the less pleasant necessities of the Plan, for all that she cared. This was so much more interesting. It looked and felt like a refined trap, designed to catch her off guard... yet she did not care.

Because in the room, Figwit was singing an old lay that she had heard before long ago. '_Estel_' was sitting near her, a fine lad who promised to be everything he would come to be in the War, exchanging meaningful glances with his foster brothers and plotting their next mischief. So far he had kept her out of his pranks.

And Solene would know how to return the favour if he changed his mind.

The singer finished his song in a mix of laughter and applause, and soon other took his place, beginning another song.

"Sing us one of your songs, lady Solene." Estel asked, with mischief in his eyes. Solene glanced from him to Elladan, who was wearing far too innocent a face to be truly innocent.

"You're up to something." She replied, warning her sister on the other side of the room. Stella was seated among Legolas and Pyrr, a dangerous combination any given day, and whilst the prince had not yet made his advance it was clear that he would do so in the near future.

_He_ was up to something, too.

"The lady thinks thus of me?" Estel replied in mock hurt. "Ai, I did nothing to deserve that."

"Scoundrel," she laughed, disarranging his hair with a caress. Were he a cat, the dunadan would have purred.

Stella excused herself and left the hall, walking off quietly to the gardens. Solene stood in there, drinking in the song and all the things that had been denied her long ago.

'_This_,' Solene thought, '_is how it should have been for me_.'

But why had her mother told her to stay away from the elves?

Her hand was doing soothing caresses on Estel's scalp, while she absentmindedly pondered those mysteries in her life. Since reuniting with the elves, her mother had become more and more of an enigma.

Estel shot Solene a questioning glance.

Solene furrowed her brow. What the hell?

Estel blushed furiously.

Solene realised her hand was entangled on Estel's unruly hair. She did not even think of lowering her voice. "Estel, for pity's sake! I'm not hitting on you, you gigantic prat, I'm just being friendly. When I'm hitting on someone, by all the stars in the sky, he won't _wonder_ if I'm doing so!"

Laughter erupted from the room and Solene realised it had started with the prat himself. She did not resist, and joined in.

She also realised Legolas was no longer in the room.

_Damn_.

He found her easily enough; she was wandering in the gardens, a vision of pale blue and red in the sleeping place. There had been a lot of rumours about her, in fact some went so far as to place her as a lost relative of the Lady Galadriel.

"_I've seen my blood, Legolas_," she had told him when he asked her, after a short, dry laugh_, "it's the farthest thing from blue_."

He knew what to do now.

"Stella?"

She turned around with a twirl, clearly unused with the billowing skirt of the elven fashioned dress. "Good grief, Legolas! You gave me a fright!"

He walked out of the shadows and offered her a slender hand, "I'm sorry. Would you walk with me for a while?"

She studied him warily, then accepted his hand. "Sure."

"You seem ill at ease with the others," the prince stated mildly.

"You're very observant, _mellon-nin_," the use of the endearment drew a small smile from him. Stella had always put a mile-length barrier between them at any given time, and it had been very hard to get her to call him friend. "They are always studying me. It's unnerving."

'_Always blunt, young Stella_.' Legolas thought.

"They are curious," he found himself defending his friends.

"They are more than merely curious," she told him with a pointed look. "I don't like being watched."

"Neither do I."

They walked for a while and sat on a small white bench overlooking the mountains in the east.

"There's something I'd like to ask of you," he finally said, his voice eerie.

There was no denying the stiffening of the lady sitting beside him. "Tell me, and I'll see if it is in my power to do."

He breathed deeply. "I wanted to know if you'd have anything against me courting your sister."

Stella released her breath with a laugh. "You're asking me _permission_ to court her?"

"You're the only family around. Of course I'll write to your father as well."

"I do not think you need permission, Legolas. Solene can answer for herself. And no, I have nothing against it," she said with a brilliant smile.

"I'm glad," was the shy response.

"Hey. Don't panic on me now."

"I will not panic." He smiled. "Is there anyone else wooing her?"

Stella hid her smirk tugging a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I know there are some who like Solene, but so far no one courted her, if that's what you want to know."

They continue to sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

"How old are you? We know one another for years and I still have no idea," Legolas asked suddenly. Stella bid her own time in answering.

"Sometimes I feel older than the earth," she whispered. Legolas grinned.

"Welcome to the group."

"Sorry," she said under her breath. "She's three-hundred and thirteen, milord."

There was a slight teasing tone in her voice, and a tilt to her head.

That was much younger than he anticipated.

Before he could say that, however, the subject of their conversation showed up in the gardens, walking straight to the couple. Legolas could not help but grin, Solene looked positively perturbed.

"My lady," he greeted, "please come join us."

It would not do for him to have his object of affection thinking he was courting her twin sister.

Because he _had_ felt attracted by Stella at some point.

Solene had the grace to blush. "I'm afraid I came to drag Stella to bed. Glorfindel reminded me you'll have training early morning. Something about horse-fighting."

"That should be, how to fight without falling off of your horse, Solene," Stella enlightened with a world-weary sight. "Good night, both of you. I better get all the rest I can because old Glor will throw everything he has at me."

With that, the young hurricane fled the garden, leaving a very amused Legolas and a very shocked Solene behind.

"Does she call him _that_?"

"Not at his face, no," Solene answered. "Why are you not with the others?"

Legolas felt the urge of asking whether she was jealous, but decided not to burn his bridges. "There was something I had to clarify with Stella and this was as good a moment as any."

Solene narrowed her eyes at him, with a mute 'oh' of understanding.

"I see. Well, I bid you good night. Lord Erestor lent me some very impressive scrolls and asked to discuss my opinion come the morning. Although I have no idea why he's so interested in what I think anyway."

"Will you be free in the afternoon?" he found himself asking.

"I think so..."

"I shall rescue you from the interrogation before midday meal then. The sons of Elrond showed me a wonderful site not too far from the city and I'd like to take you there."

Solene's face registered utter shock. Legolas kept his own calm and impassive with every modicum of control he had.

"You're always rescuing damsels in distress, are you not?" she teased him, her chin held high.

"It's worth the trouble, my lady."

"I told you to skip the 'lady'. Or else I'll call you Lord Legolas Thranduillion whenever we speak."

"You have a deal." He replied with a smile, and escorted her to her bedchambers. There was a quiet expectancy in the way they walked.

"Goodnight, Legolas." She said when they reached the door.

"Good night, Solene."

The door closed quietly and Legolas immediately turned to the eastern end of the corridor, reaching the spying Estel in a few short strides. "Not a word," he warned.

Estel grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it, mellon."

**Rivendell, January 27th of 2952.**

He was way too close for focus.

Solene breathed deeply, trying to tame her wild thoughts. Immediately the scent of sandalwood invaded her nostrils and she groaned softly.

She was sure he was doing that in purpose. _Damn him!_

Legolas tightened his grip on her waist, his head anchored on the crook of her neck, trying to share the same view she had. Her grip on the notch of the arrow loosened slightly and he instantly corrected her mistake, whispering instruction in her ear. She drew the arrow far back and set it loose.

"When you release your grip," he tutored her, not releasing her from his embrace, "do not waver. It is the arrow that must move, not you, lest you alter the course of its flight."

If the other elves at the practice field thought that was an unusual way of teaching archery, no one said a word. And if anyone thought Legolas was slightly too close from his student, they found it unworthy of comments either.

Solene reached back and pulled another arrow, placing it delicately on the string and pulling it to her anchor point. The waver was small this time, but still present. The arrow buried itself with a muffled 'thud' in the target seventy paces away.

That was not a wonderful shot, but Solene sighed contentedly.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," she commented playfully.

Legolas laughed quietly, his breath causing her hair to fly and tickle her skin.

"You laugh a lot," she stated quietly, pulling another arrow.

"Is that not a good thing?" he mused, moving a strand of golden-red hair out of his camp of vision.

The hair was soft and rich, caressing his skin. She smelled like something he could not quite identify, but would bet it was some kind of flower. Something exotic, from her homeland.

"Yes, it's a great thing. Yet when I first went to your home, lord Feriel told me you were a very serious elf."

"Feriel. That explains everything," he mused aloud for her benefit, and straightened her back with a feather touch on her stomach. "Keep your back straight," he ordered.

"Was he mistaken?" Solene insisted.

"No, I was a serious elf."

"But not anymore."

"That's correct."

She forgot about the shooting and turned around to face him, the arrow losing its grip, the bow hanging low in her arm. "I think," she said solemnly, "that I quite like the change."

He stared at her face, trying to find out whether she was saying what he _thought_ she was saying. Solene suffered his scrutiny absolutely still. His hand itched where it rested above her hip.

But the moment was broken when she jumped, both of them looking at the increasing noise of fast horses approaching. Within minutes three elves invaded the clearing, going straight into the house.

"If I'm not mistaken, those were elves from Lórien. There's been a lot of exchanged messages between the realms lately."

Legolas decided not to comment, he was not sure if he meant that the wood elves did not keep much of an interchange with their kin. Which was true, anyway. They resumed their shooting lesson in uneasy silence only to be interrupted brusquely by Gilmador, fifteen minutes later.

"My lord, my lady," the captain greeted the couple and Legolas felt Solene struggling not to snort at the title. For whatever reason, she disliked being called so. "I must speak with you in private, Legolas."

It had to be urgent for Gilmador to interrupt him so near the end of the lesson, so Legolas grudgingly released his grip on the redhead. "I'll speak with you later, Solene."

"Of course," she said simply, as if sensing the importance of that, and retreated hastily with only a short bow to the woodland captain.

"I'm afraid we'll need to cut short our stay in Rivendell, Legolas. Lothlórien just sent a message saying they had news from the south."

Legolas walked with Gilmador a short distance away, so as not to be overheard by the other elves in the field. "And what is the news?"

"Sauron has reclaimed his old fortress of Barad-dur in Mordor and he's reconstructing it."

"We leave come the morrow," was the only answer Legolas could give.

He intercepted her when Solene was making her way to the dining room.

"Have you been told yet?" he asked quietly, thinking it'd be hard Solene had not been informed, as she was in Rivendell as a representative of Antar as much as he was Mirkwood's.

Plus, she was much too observant to have missed the sudden gloomy mood of the Dell.

"About Mordor?" she asked him straightforwardly. "Yes. Lord Elrond gave our committee the news some time ago."

"I must take the message to my father," he informed, as if she needed to know. Solene smiled sadly.

"I expected as much. When will you leave?"

"At dawn."

The silence stretched, and for lack of better plan Legolas led her through the corridors of the House of Elrond.

"My heart would be assured if you'd take the ships to Valinor. War would not touch you there," he said, apparently in a disconnected discourse. "Yet... I do not think you would do that."

"Would you?" she asked, equally honest.

"No. I must stay with my people."

She did not feel the need to say anything else.

"I knew the storm was coming, Legolas. Do you not remember the day we met?"

"Aye, I remember."

"It is time for us to join the Free People of Middle-earth. For ages, you have kept us safe unknowingly. Now we must help you. I shall travel to take my father the news. We may go together for a while."

"I'll escort you to Mirkwood, and then I can give you protection from there to the borders of Esgaroth."

"And then, the hidden paths to Antares from the north," she completed, agreeing with his plan. The Misty Mountains _were_ dangerous, after all.

He should wait. A war was looming in the horizon, ready to unleash its black fury anytime soon. It was not wise to engage in any kind of emotional bound in times fraught with danger, Legolas knew. His own father waited till the end of the War of the Ring to marry his mother, as did several other elves.

"You're not anywhere near, Legolas. What lands are keeping you prisoner?" Solene jested, her hands caressing his own. It could have been a friendly gesture.

Had it been?

"Mordor."

"Things will be all right, mellon. Legend tells Good always wins in the end."

"I hope so," he replied, not willing to show how unsettled he was. The time of the elves were fading. There were not enough of them for a second Alliance.

Not enough... or was it?

"I've been thinking of something, I thought that when I saw Stella training with Glorfindel the other day," she said conspirationally, her voice no more than a whisper, "yet I thought I could maturate the idea before proposing it."

"What would it be?" Legolas inquired, thinking and disliking it should be the twins joining the army.

Not if he had a say in the matter. _And he would have._

Solene stared at him quizzically before moving on, "Maybe I could convince the Senate to send a force to the western realms. We're peaceful people, with little or no knowledge of war craft. So maybe we could work on an exchange."

"The aid for the knowledge," he concluded.

"You do not like it," Solene stated quietly. "I thought about speaking with Elrond right after dinner."

"You have not yet talked with the Senate, Solene."

"Well, I have to start _somewhere._ And I'm already here. Might as well come back with the answer."

"It might work," Legolas conceded, "if the antarians agree to be under someone else's authority."

Solene nodded happily. "It will work. You have _no_ idea how persuasive I can be when the facts are on my side."

When dawn brought a new day to the valley, eleven horses set out to the east.

**A.N.:**

[1] A quick research led me to believe Glorfindel was in fact from the Vanyar. I read it somewhere he was called the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower...

[2] LoTR, FoTR. Frodo describes feeling himself immerse in 'river of silver' and seeing other lands while he was listening to the songs.


	7. The mingled webs of our lives

**Chapter six: The mingled web of our lives**

_"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions." Hamlet [78], Shakespeare._

_Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events._

_**Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965)**_

**Antar,****Antares. April 12th of 2952.**

"What on Viskaya's name are you up to, Solene?" Selton asked irately, pacing the length of the Council Room. All antarian ambassadors had returned from the far off lands, Solene and her committee from Rivendell and Aillin with hers from Gondor and feuds. Solene had just explained her plan to the king of Antar and the sovereign had not reacted favourably.

Solene gave frightened Stella a sign to get out of the room, but the younger girl would not leave the discussion when the committee so obivously needed all the support they could gather. Even Selton's youngest daughter Aillin seemed to be unsettled by his rare display of temper- Selton was an ordinarily calm and well mannered elf, but it was wise to get as much distance as possible when he was upset.

As for the Program itself, both Elrond and Thranduil had liked it. She was sure their offering- before need forced the realms to call for aid or fall stubbornly alone- had earned both respect and trust. If the cards were dealt well, Solene would be able to risk a further three items off her _'to do_' list.

"Father," she began, but Selton's angry glare corrected her immediately. She was facing the King, not the citizen. "My lord, war is already upon us. I was quite frank with Hayden and the Ruling Board when I told them about the threat to the safety of this nation."

"You did not specify the nature of the threat, nor were you given leave to compromise the Seven Provinces in such a way," Selton countered icily.

"You had to see it for yourselves. The depth and width of the danger were beyond our reckoning."

Solene, Stella and Pyrrhus proceeded to remind Selton - and the silent group of councillors behind him, who had the tact to remain apart from the discussion till the sovereign calmed down - the last events of the recent History of Middle-earth. How Sauron was gathering his strength back and organising his minions. And about the goblins' stronghold in the Misty Mountains - it was never quite destroyed. About Dol Guldur and the tower of Barad-dur in Mordor. That they were sure that war was coming, and that Sauron would turn his eye on them once the more traditional enemies were subdued. Their opinions of the realms that opposed the dark lord.

"None of us have the strength to withhold Sauron alone, " Solene concluded.

It would be a harsh war. One that would, inevitably, reach Antar. Selton was, understandably, having a very bad day. The beginning of a headache did not improve anything.

"And we're making everything in our power to be noticed so we can go after us as well!" he exploded, and all his daughters, by blood and adoption, recoiled. It was Pyrrhus who stood his ground, always the faithful one.

"My lord," the dark elf said quietly, his midnight black eyes warm, a calm force around him because he was sure of the situation, "it was inevitable. The Easterlings, as we all know now, serve Sauron as a god. They were already aware of our existence. And Sauron wants to conquer _all _the lands."

"So we ride and meet them?" Selton asked, still furious but starting to seek a rational way out of the predicament.

"We prepare ourselves," said Stella, speaking for the first time that evening. "There's no stopping it, all we can do is face it on our feet. He has no Ring of Power this time, yet his strength is still considerable. With the expertise of his older enemies, we might succeed in saving our lands."

"Shut up," Selton whispered, pained.

Stella opened her mouth in an 'o' of surprise, and Aillin quickly came to her rescue, dragging the young one in a tight embrace. Silence reigned for a few moments, no one saying anything while the king pondered.

"In a few years, we'll hold elections for Chief of State. How could you compromise yourself so when I cannot answer for the next sovereign?"

"You can because it's the only thing to do. We have no experience in a war of such massive proportions. And they have only a few people- it's not that hard to put two and two together!"Solene stated bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Be quiet!" Selton cried again. "Do you not think I know it? I would that I could stop this ruin from befalling us. 'Tis the first time we are open to the other people, a war is looming and they know all about our realm!"

"Not all," Pyrr stated quietly. The councillor weighed every person in the room before continuing, and for that Solene was reminded of why she had chosen him as one of her apprentices when she was building the school of magic and wizardry. Pyrr was a fun-loving, charming, merry companion one could always count upon. Yet he was also very centred when it came to his work, and even more when it came to the fate of those whom he loved.

Needless to say, he was a Hufflepuff.

"Hayden established one fundamental condition to the opening of diplomatic ties, and that was that the secrecy would be respected as much as possible. The representatives would retain their positions as ambassadors to prevent too much speculation. The released information would be minimal."

"They know we are an isolated group. They know we are a peaceful people. It was decided we should not reveal about the Seven Provinces. For security reasons, we only revealed the existence of Antares."

"Prudent," Selton conceded, re-examining his opinion of the previous king of Antar, Hayden. The youngster proved to be up to the test.

"Antares was built to be a haven and stronghold. She can resist a siege if worst comes to worse. "

"You have attended too many war councils, my friend." Selton gave a tired smile. "I cannot resist when you are all grouped against me. By the stars, I wanted never to face such situation. But if we must, then we must."

"There is no other way, my lord. The final terms of the deal are up to you, of course. We merely sketched an idea."

Selton broke the seal of the letter Pyrrhus had given him, and skimmed through its contents. "This will require some study, but it seems to be as good as it may. Let me consider the terms for a while, and them I'll give you an answer."

The crowd dispersed, retreating to leave Selton alone with his councillors.

**Lothlórien, Caras Galadhon. May 17th of 2953.**

Little time was spent in trifle conversation, because the feeling of urgency was present in the heart of all members of the council. So it was, that shortly after the last caravan entered the city of the galadhrin, the White Council was held once again.

"Friends," Celeborn started the debate, successfully hiding his distress for not seeing his kith in this meeting. Being a practical, down-to-earth sindar elf himself, Celeborn could understand that Thranduil had his hands full once again, for Sauron had sent three of his Ulairi to reclaim Dol Guldur and Mirkwood had resumed their state of alertness.

Even though the lord of Lothlórien knew that deeper waters ran on that particular river.

"We are here to discuss our position about Dol Guldur, which was recently re-occupied by Sauron's minions, the Nazgul. And also concerning the Rings of power."

"I have dedicated myself to the study of that difficult issue," Saruman said, rising. His luminescent white attire billowed as if the wind was dancing around him. Whereas Gandalf and Radagast had always preferred the inconspicuousness of ordinary appearance, Saruman was wont to appear always in his best. "We all know what happened to the Nine. Gandalf already reported that the last of the Seven has fallen into the hands of Sauron once again. The Three have managed to stay out of his reach, and thus shall continue lest he come in possession of the One again. Others rings exist, less powerful, scattered across the lands and unaccounted for. But they are not of importance in the great scheme of things."

Saruman surveyed his audience. Alatar had come, from Eru knew where, and also Radagast and Gandalf, as was his wont. The Grey Pilgrim was also meddling in the affairs of pretty much everyone, Saruman mused silently. The elder among the elves as well, Elrond with his trusted councillor Erestor, and Cirdan from Lindon, and the lord and lady of Lothlórien. Others would later know what they deigned safe to release, but those were the ones who held power in their hands, to alter the course of history in Middle-earth.

Those were the ones he had to be wary of.

"I have come to the conclusion that the One will never be again found. It has likely been led to the deep heart of the ocean, by the flow of the Great River."

"It is never safe to assume, not where Sauron and his crafts are concerned," Cirdan warned seriously. Saruman controlled himself, before any could see his anger building.

"It was very difficult to discover the site of Isildur's falling," Saruman argumented placidly, taking the posture of a lecturing tutor talking with his protégé. "He drowned on the Anduin. But in spite of the enormous lure that the One has over all dark creatures, and the abundance of such foul beings around, no one has ever found it. Had one found it, we would be surely suffering the effects now. Sauron himself lived there for many long years, but he could not attract the ring back to himself. One might think that's enough evidence, my dear friend, that the ring is simply _not there_ anymore."

"Indeed," Elrond agreed, " we have not heard of it for a long time. Sauron seems to have resigned himself to wager war without his weapon."

"That, at least, is a comfort," Celeborn commented. "Without the Ring, our chances are much increased, for he has not all his power."

"That he hasn't," Erestor stated. "Yet, we should not forget caution, not so far down in the road."

Saruman felt his ire raising, but merely sat down on his ornate chair. He had hopes of inducing the elves to reveal the ringbearers. Wouldn't it be wondrous, he said to himself, if their identities were known? Saruman was cunning, he knew it was likely that one or more Ringbearer was sitting alongside himself right then. But also, in the manner of elves, it was not unlikely that the Rings were given to unsuspecting people, those who would be overlooked. The elves had battled with evil too oft, and learned caution and malice.

"Aye. The enemy's very rising is so bright a sign for caution as the evening star," Elrond whispered, his deep voice filled with grief.

No. Saruman would not have intelligence on the Three. Only the Ringbearers knew themselves.

_Soon_, Saruman thought. _Soon I'll find the ring, and all lands will be under my domain_.

"We will need to face this threat, and soon," Elrond said, earning several approving nods. "We must not let the Nazgul work at will."

"What of Sauron?" Gandalf asked. "We cannot forget he is rebuilding his fortress of Barad-dur as we speak, his work is nearly complete."

Saruman nearly snorted. Gandalf always looked the general picture rather than examining the small details. The dark lord was slowly closing his trap, leaving his Black riders behind to occupy the elves while he gathered the strength to attack full force.

"Sauron will be dealt with when we can afford it," Celeborn stated. "The time of the elves is fading,"

Elrond mourned, " our people are leaving these shores. Yet we shall face him ere we leave, for I fear the others shall not be able to."

"We lack the strength to attack him on his own lands, as of yet," Erestor supplied. "So few, so few of us linger."

"This will not be a matter of strength of arms," Galadriel said. "But of stout hearts, and faith. Do not worry overmuch with things that you cannot change. For I think on this matter Fate will find a way to surprise us all."

"We'll be at ready then, as we have always been," Cirdan said and sighed. "What must be shall be."

**Gondor, Minas Tirith. Midsummer day 2976.**

Aragorn dressed in his finest attire as a Captain of the Guard of Gondor and took his place amongst the other members of the Guard. For eight years he had served Ecthelion II, and before that, Thengel of Rohan for twelve years. All his mind and will was set on the fight against the enemy, and little else caught his attention.

He had said naught of his family and lineage, and was known simply as Thorongil. Some said he was an illegitimate child of Ecthelion's, so great was the Steward's love for the Captain. A love that was echoed by the people of Gondor and Rohan, but not by the steward's son, Denethor. Aragorn had always worked hard, climbing from the humble position of soldier to trusted captain.

Isildur's heir had never desired any of the ladies of the court as his bride- all his heart was filled with the Evenstar's image, and no other could replace her. Even if there was one who could, lord Elrond had warned him against taking a wife when his road was so perilous and long. Yet, when he saw Finduilas walk down the corridor to meet Denethor at the feet of the Steward's chair, he felt a pang of bittersweet longing. Dol Amroth's lady shone bright that evening, the dark beauty of the House of the Swam overpowering all courtesans. Although that was a marriage of convenience, it was clear Denethor cared for the lady. And Adrahil had never forced a match upon his beloved daughter, for she was being wed at the mature age of twenty-six.

The lords celebrated the espousement, and the court proceeded to pay the newlyweds their respects. Every fief had sent representatives, and most of their allies. Lossarnach, Lebethron, the exiled lords of Ithilien who had to flee to prevent the death of their people, Rohan and some of the beornings. Even some rangers from Eriador had come, as they served all realms in the fight against the Nameless fear -but those tactfully pretended to be mere passing acquaintances of the Captain Thorongil. Unsurprisingly, he saw also some of the fair folk from Antar.

Aragorn was aware that Antar was slowly manoeuvring to forge an alliance with all the enemies of the dark Lord- an attitude that he approved. There was already a treaty of mutual assistance amongst the elven realms, and only a fool would fail to notice the mortals were being weighed as possible allies in the near future. With the newborn coalition in the north, he was free to focus his attention in the south. More and more the rangers travelled southwards to help Gondor and Rohan, except those who were assigned to protect the Shire. Aragorn was not quite sure why yet, but Gandalf had asked him fervently - and when a wizard asked you something, it generally becaus of a good cause. So he waged war against the dunlendings when they tried to take over Rohan. Then he pledged himself to Ecthelion and in his name had driven the haradrin back to Far Harad. As of present there was an issue with the corsairs of Umbar that, Aragorn was certain, would need taking care of soon. They had been causing severe damage to the fleets of Dol Amroth and by extension, wounding the economy of all Gondor.

No, he was not at all surprised to see Dalton in Minas Tirith.

And he was even less surprised when Denethor icily announced to him that Ecthelion wanted to speak about attacking the corsairs.

**Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. May 16th of 2998****.**

He was furious.

The years had done nothing to abate his rage, and the flawless reasoning of his father could not calm him.

When Legolas saw the antarians riding into Mirkwood, his first impulsive was to step forth and tell the ladies to go home. Such disregard for the safety of the Fairer Sex was outrageous. Sure, Mirkwood had the occasional female ranger, but their duty was to patrol the borders, not to battle against Sauron. For a wild moment he was left wondering if that was a political manoeuvre of the twins, or their foster family, and damned them all to the void if so. It would simply not be accepted.

Thranduil had restrained him before he had a chance to irreparably damage the diplomatic ties between the realms. Madrin, Hayden's father and spokesman for that group, had the nerve to say that ladies had the same rights and duties as their counterparts.

Legolas wanted to slap the elf. Hard.

It took some time getting used to that cultural difference. Not a long time after, he received letters from Rivendell saying Solene was participating of the exchange program with her twin. One of the letters was even hers.

He took a long time to answer them.

For forty-three years he kept himself under control, doing his ordinary tasks, assisting his father in the labour of keep a realm running smoothly and preparing the wood elves to war. He went out in patrolling parties, supported the antarians training once in a while. They received the news of the completion of Barad-dur rebuilt, and that the last habitants of Ithilien had fled from the Shadow. Now the training was complete and War Councils would be held to decide the course of action the elves should take.

And Legolas was free to do as his heart desired- it very much desired to shake some sense into a certain redhead acquaintance of his.

The prince was trying to explain to his father why he wanted to go to Rivendell. And if the sneaky fool was no longer there, he would go to Antar. She had to be convinced to let go of that folly.

"I know what it is that you desire, son, but I must ask you to think some more," Thranduil said very calmly, sitting on the desk of his office, as they were alone in the room. It was one of those treasured moments when the king was gone and the father took place. "You have no claim on the lady to demand such a thing. She might take offence on your action, and even friendship will be damaged."

Legolas could not deny his father's logic. After some decades of closeness, the odd ways of the antarians were almost familiar to him. He could not give up his plan either.

"I know I have no claim on her, but neither can I just step aside and let her proceed with this folly. It's too risky."

Could he lose her, when at last he had found her?

"They have a different view on many things, Legolas. Have a care, lest you scare her away."

Legolas turned an anguished azure gaze to his ada. "I shall be careful then. But I must try and dissuade her."

"There is but one way then," Thranduil stated coolly, standing up to meet his troubled son. "Make so that she has your convenience in mind."

"I do not solely seek my convenience. It is her safety that concerns me most."

"That argument will not win the lady," Thranduil stated. "However, you misunderstand me- I meant that you should place lead her into a position she'd be forced to oblige."

"But how?"

"Bind her to you," Thranduil said offhandedly, "that should do the trick."

If Solene was bound to him, she'd be forced to stay in the fortress of Taur-e-Ndaedelos, protected by his family's magic and all the army of Mirkwood.

She'd be honour bound to.

The thought both thrilled and terrified him. A wife. A war. Not the most advisable of mixtures, yet most the warriors had a wife at some point of their lives. And Legolas would be much reassured if she was safe.

The prince knew the lady had feelings for him- 'twas clear in the way her eyes followed him when he entered a room, shielding whenever she thought he had caught her staring.

**Rivendell, July 15th of 2998.**

His second visit to Imladris was not alike the former. This time, Legolas had with him a proper escort. He was an elf in a mission.

As soon as the city came within sight, the prince of Mirkwood could see the new buildings. Being a small refuge for those who survived the fall of Eregion, Rivendell could hardly fit so many new inhabitants in a short time span. With the basics of their warrior training complete, one third of the novices had returned home to help defending their lands. The rest of it had stayed behind to aid in the war effort.

"Mae Govannen, mellon-nin," said Elrohir, emerging from the main house with a mortal man.

Legolas took a moment to relate the grown man with the youngling he had once met. Estel was now in the plenitude of his strength and stature, being nearly as tall as some of the smaller elves. His complexion was well built, however, and the faint lines of worry spoke of a life of hardship and concern. His eyes were kind yet sharp, and his smile more reserved.

All in all, an amazing transformation.

"It's been a long time," said Estel, clasping Legolas' arms in a warrior's embrace.

"Indeed, it has," Legolas replied, taking in the sight before him. "I think you will not let me throw you in the mud nowadays."

Estel laughed. "I could give you a better fight, yet I believe you'd manage it eventually."

His escorts were released from duty, and Legolas was able to talk with his friends more at ease. They had plenty of astonishing news for him. Estel was actually Aragorn II, son of Arathorn. Isildur's heir and heir to the throne of Gondor, whom the dark lord long presumed dead.

And he had spent the last decades serving Rohan and Gondor, defeating the haradrin and the corsairs of Umbar, wicked minions of Sauron from the southern lands.

And he had used a different name to every different country, it seemed.

"And the rangers are doing a fine job," Elrohir said with unhidden pride. "They force us to travel a long way to hunt orcs."

"They have been quiet of late," Legolas agreed. "Probably waiting for their numbers to raise again. It will not be long till the confrontation, all lands are preparing for the strike."

"No, it will not," Aragorn agreed. "Gondor is already under attack. Our people are cornered, and many fled to Minas Tirith and the far West. We have already defeated Umbar, and Harad, but the latter is now rising again and we'll soon need to deal with them. And the easterlings have already stroked."

Legolas' heart threatened to stop, but his voice remained cool and firm when he asked. "Whom have they attacked?

Of course, he already knew. However, Legolas needed to hear it aloud.

"I am sorry to tell you this, mellon-nin. But the easterlings attacked Antar about a month ago. They appear to have noticed the constant flow of elves passing through the mountain path lately. My cousin Halbarad is in charge of the northern roads, and he sent me a message a week ago."

It had already happened.

And his lover would probably be in the middle of the chaos, if he knew her at all.

Legolas made an effort not o look too worried. "Please keep me informed," he said simply, and stormed out to seek lord Elrond. He was determined to be done with the council as soon as possible. He needed to think on a way to take Solene out of that mess.

**Antar, Antares. February 6th of 3000.**

Solene stood nervously at the Chief of State's office, as she waited for the visitors to walk in. Verlat had agreed to keep it simple, apart from the whole feast thing – those huge celebrations in someone`s honour seemed to be tradition for Middle-earth -, she had only the closest friends and family for company. The whole official meetings would have to wait.

For a period of eighteen months, Antar had found herself at war once again, only that time, it was a real war, with experient enemies, on an unknown landscape. While pushing the easterlings off the borders was easy, submitting them was all but - the dunlendings hid in holes and caves in the desert and made a war of ambushes and guerrilla that greatly harmed the antarians.

Strategically speaking, it had been perfect. The easterlings were provoked to attack before they had conditions to do so, and with that strife one more of Sauron's many arms was cut off. It was inevitable that the dark lord should learn of their existence, but yet they had not revealed all of their secrets. Antarians were given convenient practice. And Solene tried not to blame herself for the casualties.

_It would happen anyway._

Hardly six months after the conflict started, she had begun a battle of her own. With Legolas, of all people. It was a wonder, really, that there were messengers willing to cross the dunlands. He wished her out of it, she wanted to stay. He wished to come, she wanted him out.

_On the bright side, it really does prove we are made for each other,_ she thought bitterly.

She had asked to chaperone him around, given they were so close friends already. Selton had not quite bought her excuse, but he would not call her on it either. All the old elf had said, god bless his soul, was, '_be careful, my dove. He's a powerful elf, and a very dangerous one to toy with_'.

Verlat, on the other hand, was willing to wait and see what it would end up at. The old fox. Apparently, the whole '_permanent advocate on the elven court'_ thing was not entirely forgotten.

The courier opened the huge oak doors and Legolas stepped forth with his companions, ten elves at total, most of them sylvan, with dark hair and grey eyes. The prince was clad in silver, unusual for him, who preferred shades of green and greyish brown. An elegant, smart silver tunic and white trousers, his silvery travel cloak already handed to a fellow wood-elf. His fair hair was half up in a stylish braid, and his azure eyes shone bright with something unreadable.

Probably excitement. He loved to explore new places.

"A star shines upon the hour of our meeting," he said, with the precise amount of courtesy and sincerity.

"You bring light to our home," Verlat replied in the custom of the land, and proceeded to introduce the members of his house. They engaged in brief conversation about the latest news of Middle-earth, the preparations for the war and impressions on common associates. Dalton stepped in at a specific time to greet the company with more familiarity, being acquainted with them all. In all that time they behaved as if they were merely good friends, and even avoided looking at each other too oft.

And that, the elders noticed.

"Forgive me," Verlat excused himself after one and a half hours, "but I'm afraid I have a pressing appointment I cannot miss. We shall meet again at dinner, if you do not have any objection?"

"It would be my pleasure, sire."

"Verlat, don't be mean," Solene scolded gently. "He's too kind to point out, but it's one very long way from Mirkwood. Let the lad rest a while before you trap him in your mind games."

Legolas glanced nervously at her, his eyes going wide for a fraction of second, before he heard the laughter in the room.

"I'm afraid she's right, father," Dalton agreed. "I slept for nearly a day when I came home myself."

"A day and a half," Stella corrected. "And I had to convince Callista to hold the reports till you could see it."

"I _slept_ for a day," Dalton said maliciously, "then I left you to deal with the hard work alone."

"_Typical_," Stella snorted, spoiling the effect with a carefree wink.

"They'll go on all day long," Solene said to the Woodland committee, rolling her eyes. "Come, I'll take you to your chambers. I'm afraid all the important people are needed at the Senate in a few minutes."

She led them into the Palace, talking at length and trying to make them feel at home. This was a republic, for Pity's sake, not a monarchy, and there would not be much solemnity in those halls. The one thing she did remember was to assign them close quarters, as to provide the prince the escort he needed.

"Try not to mind Dalton too much," she said at last, showing the bedchamber to the last bodyguard, some Garand. "He's a good person, who likes to play a tad too much."

"I remember," Garand replied with a smile.

"Good. I'll let the servants know they are to bring you food when you have awoken. The roads are a nightmare."

She turned them to open the last door of the corridor, Legolas' quarters. If one wished to talk to him, he'd need to get past the whole group, that was, Solene thought, the best arrangement possible.

"These will be your quarters. I hope they are of your liking."

Legolas surveyed the rooms quickly. Blue and silver all around, with a neat, minute living room and a suite.

"It is lovely."

She pondered if telling him she'd also be a guest for the time he was there was polite, or could be misinterpreted, but decided on the contrary.

"I'll let you rest, then."

"I'd rather have a word with you," he whispered, dropping a small bag on the nearest table.

"If that word is anything like the latest we have exchanged, we really should leave them to some other occasion."

"Are you still angry with me?" he asked, with a suggestion of mirth in his voice, and that undid her.

"I am _appalled_," she hissed. "How dare you blackmail me?"

Legolas did not even blink. In fact, he calmly clasped his hands. "I tried to protect you."

"I gave the idea of the Program, Legolas. It is not nice if I hide at home when others risk their lives in it." She exclaimed, annoyed now.

Legolas could not care less how it looked. Ladies should be courageous, but by heaven's sake just leave the bloodshed for men. How they could be so stubborn- so obtuse- as to willingly overlook the consequences it could bring to the female gender was beyond him.

"You are a politician, Solene, not a warrior. Carnage is not for you. Come, now, don't be vexed with me. I care for you."

She faltered, colour mounting on her face. "And I for you, but that does not give me the right to ask you to stay home when your land is under attack."

"I am _honour-bound_ to protect my people," Legolas pointed grimly, crossing the distance in few strides and silently damning everything to hell. "Solene," he framed her face with his hands, partly transfixed in the way those eyes widened, her lips opened slightly, her heartbeat rushed under his touch. So close, so close… "do you not see that I love you, and it terrifies me to think of you lying dead in a battle? I want to _protect_ you!"

"You could have given me flowers," she stuttered simply swaying a little. "Oh my, I can't breathe."

"What?"

"I better sit down," the woman stated, utterly uncaring of Legolas' confusion. She sank ungracefully into the couch. "You sure know how to make an impression."

"I was under the impression you returned my feelings," he said tentatively, watching the lady try to regain her poise.

"I do," she said dazedly. "But whenever I think I know what you will do, you surprise me doing something totally unexpected."

It was his turn to sat down on the couch. Legolas let out a deep breath and grasped her hands into his. "I did not mean for this to happen."

"Pardon me?"

"I meant to woo you properly," he said apologetically, flashing one devilishly shy smile. "Instead I confessed my feelings in a shouting match."

"Oh, I don't know. You rendered me speechless before I could start shouting- and I _really_ wanted to shout."

"I wanted it to be perfect. Memorable."

He intertwined their fingers, noticing the way peace seemed to engulf him wholly.

"It was," she giggled. "And _this_ is a story I can tell our children."

_Our children. _Legolas wanted to… well, of course he'd not do something so reckless, much less considering in which house he was at in the moment; but he wanted to do something folly. One of those things you laugh about when you grow older and wiser.

Only he couldn't.

He opted for kissing her brow instead. "My love. Bind yourself to me."

"I am yours, Legolas. It feels like I have always been."


	8. Family Affairs

**Chapter seven: Family affairs **

_"But there was always something different_

_In the way she held a stare _

_And the pictures that she painted _

_Were of glamour and of flair _

_And her boyfriend though he loved her _

_Knew he couldn't quite fulfil _

_He could never meet her there _

_She's never gonna be like the one before _

_She read it in her stars that there's something more _

_No matter what it takes no matter how she breaks _

_She'll be the Queen of Hollywood __**" Queen of Hollywood, The Corrs.**_

**Lothlórien, Caras Galadhon. February 3003.**

Stella patted her mare so the animal would run faster. She was in a hurry to reach Lothlórien; although, for the longest time, all she wanted was to stay as far from it as possible. But there was no more room for running.

Even with the disadvantage of being younger and less experienced than her older self, Stella could tell 'Solene' was diving headfirst into the riskiest path of an already risky situation. But one thing had led to another, and the crowded prince of Mirkwood had been relentless in his efforts of charming his way into marriage.

Blast the guy.

Three years after that goddamned visit of his to Antar, Stella found herself on the path to Lothlórien. Her aunt's realm. The one person in Arda she wanted to avoid for all time. That was no longer possible, because Lady Galadriel happened to have the power to see – and foresee- many things. For as long as it was just instructions and information with Elrond, no big deal. Stella had a nice story, all angles were covered, and her task was a just one. But if Galadriel encountered Thranduil with a far-away look on her eyes, a soft voice and lots of unasked for information…

Now that the elven realms were united on their efforts to vanquish the Shadow, it was only natural that the elven lords seized the event to plan the offensive against Dol Guldur.

Imagine all the elf lords together for a war council. Imagine said war council being held after the wedding celebration of the king's only son and heir. Now imagine what would happen if Galadriel asked any inconvenient question or decided to be a bitch.

That was why Stella was heading for a tete a tete with the Lady of Light and her spouse, the fabled Celeborn.

Of course, those sycophants had to insist on burdening her with half the army as escorts, as if she could not find her way out of a room.

_Honestly._

'Solene' had told her Selton was a tad overprotective, but that was _way_ too much.

Therefore, it was not at all surprising that Stella was in a poor mood when they met the wardens of Lorien. Five elves simply appeared out of thin air before her eyes, bows drawn and all, demanding what business they had in the Golden realm.

_Whoa. Déjà vu._

Some of the elves even looked familiar… almost as if she'd met them before… the tallest of them all, fair and stockier than most, caught her staring and winked.

She decided that was a _Very Bad Day_.

"I believe you had word of my coming." There was no way around the matter, it was clear the Lady would know of her approach. "If not, Stella beseeches an audience with the Lord and the Lady of the galadhrin."

Haldir retreated discreetly to the far back of the room, leaving Stella with the two sovereigns.

"Welcome to Lothlórien, young one," Celeborn greeted. The sinda was exceedingly beautiful (_have you seen anyone __not__ beautiful among those guys?)_, tall and lithe and all silvery. Silver hair, silver eyes, silver tunic. Yet in spite of all that was said about him- the wise lore master, the firm leader, the mighty warrior- that elf seemed to be so much more. He seemed to be someone…_approachable._ The kind of guy you could talk to.

_'Not as scary as I thought._'

Galadriel, on the other hand… she was not alike Aredhel at all. She was golden, Aredhel had been fiery auburn. Her face was almost painfully delicate. Aredhel had fuller features. She was tall and all clad in white, whilst her mother favoured more vivid colours. She had a spirit for leading, whilst Aredhel was a peacemaker and a counsellor.

Stella answered with the platitudes custom required.

And panicked. A gentle, experient probing carefully slipped past her shield as if they were not there. It was uninvited, it was invasive, it was violation. And it was also downright perilous.

"I'd rather you didn't do it," she said quietly, trying to force her shields close. She had no idea whom had done the mind-reading (thought she would wager Galadriel did it) but it was fundamental no one knew of Saruman yet. Any change of behaviour might alert the wizard, and all her knowledge would prove useless; simply because the Istar would change everything. "There are other ways of knowing, other than invading one's mind."

"Have you not done it yourself?" Galadriel asked, amused rather than offended.

"Only when my survival depended on it, lady."

_'Well, after I turned 25 at least. The fun wears off quite quickly. Not to mention there are some things I __**really**__ rather not know,'_ She thought to herself, with no small amount of cynicism.

"We are curious as to how that came to pass," Celeborn stated quietly, as if the ladies were not in a contest of wills. Which was absurd, really, there were very few beings that could outwill his wife at any given day. "The lady has been looking for you for many long years, finding naught."

"There was a time when you would not need to look far." Stella could not help, her voice quavered just a bit. She was damned for letting them know it was a sore spot, and she was doubly damned for getting involved with those cunning elves. Yet there was no way around the bush, she needed their help.

For Middle-earth.

_'And the Free People darn better be grateful for that, the bastards!'_

"Oh yes." Celeborn smiled ruefully. "It was not prudent to have you among us at the time."

"It matters not," Stella stated, her voice hard. " It's over now. I am not here to deal with the past, I'm here to care for the present. And discuss the future."

"Does it not?"

The remark got her off guard, but Stella gathered her beliefs around her like a mithril armour. She was having none of that nonsense, none of their mind-games. She needed to ensure the survival of her friends, and the rest might go to hell for all she cared.

Before she could come up with a witty retort, Celeborn spoke again, placid as ever. " 'Twas a difficult decision to make. In the end, we decided that you should be happier living in a place where your parentage would not condemn you."

Stella shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "No," she protested, "it was you who did not want us around. Mother told me so. Why bring this up now? It's over, it's past. I have found myself a loving family, a nice job and a beautiful home. There is no need for us to discuss who did what."

"I doubt Aredhel would believe that, but I see why she might have told you so," Galadriel spoke, her chest rising slightly with the smallest sight. "Mayhap 'twas the only way she found of making you cautious. Ever was Ar-Feiniel crafty."

"I sent her north to forge a lasting alliance with the sylvan elves. Ever have they been wary of us- of the things we have learned from our parents in Aman, of the light in our eyes, of the thirst in our soul. Our deeds condemned us-"

"Gondolin? Ost-in-edhil? The war against Melkor? What?" Stella asked, enthralled by the story against her better judgement.

"Alqualonde."

The youngling's eyes widened upon hearing that. The golden-haired beauty was the sole surviving witness in Middle-earth, along with Glorfindel. 'Twas a sore spot for the Noldor, specially for one as proud as Galadriel.

"I was there, child," the lady of light continued. "And with my siblings I stiffed to overcome the scorn and suspicion of my kin, once they learned of what had happened. I witnessed with hat cold slight Celebrimbor was treated, even after he rejected kith and heritage." The lady's voice dropped several octaves, her whisper barely audible, "We just wanted to see Middle-earth again. Our only crime was not to… it is of no importance now. What matters is that we all sought to spare you that fate. I am sure Aredhel would do the same for me, had our roles been reverted. Angry as I was with Aredhel at the moment, I would not deny your place in my house without good reason."

"Why?" the young girl stuttered, shifting her gaze from lady to lord and back again. "Why would you need to spare me anything?"

Celeborn breathed a single word, yet that word sunk on the atmosphere with the weight of dozens of thousands dead bodies.

"Arton."

Aredhel had been travelling to that realm when the dorians took her prisoner. Later Aredhel learned not all artonians died fighting off the northern men. Some had sailed West shortly after the war of the Ring, and with their exodus attracted the attention of the rising mortal empire. Many had died when their woods was burnt on around them, however.

What few survived brought the tale to their kin in the southern lands. Stella remembered the devastation in which she had found the ruins of Dorian. What had once been a luxurious land was an icy wasteland that hardly resembled her childhood home. The elves had been quick to bestow their wrath, it would seem.

The dorian empire had vanished without leaving a trace.

"They blame _me_?" Stella's voice was now unashamedly quivering, her azure eyes sparkling in cold rage and defiance. _Damn Middle-earth_.

"Spirits were low, or rather blood-thirty at the time," Celeborn answered honestly. The tall elf crossed the few paces between them and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Stella wondered distractedly why she did not jerk that hand off. "Elves are seldom eager to enter a quarrel; but once being in, we make it that our foes be wary of us. It was not safe for you to be here."

He gently wiped the tears Stella did not know she had shed, and calmly ordered his bodyguards to give them complete privacy. His order was carried without argument.

And while Stella would rather have some time to gather her wits, she knew it was not possible. Master players to the core, Celeborn and Galadriel had successfully thrown her off balance.

She accepted that. It was a price she'd need to pay, for their complicity was vital.

"I suppose it is my turn to clarify a few things. I pray you do not share what I am to tell with anyone just yet." The redhead raised an impatient hand, stilling their retorts before they might be uttered. For some reason the elders thought it was amusing. "Hear me out. I am sure you'll agree with the need for secrecy."

Stella reached within her pockets for her wand, and waved it expertly. A chair appeared, and the youngling sat down unceremoniously. That would be one long talk. "As you might have noticed, I am a witch." She lifted her gaze to the ancient beings before her, defiance and a hint of arrogance oozing from her every pore. Apparently, her kin was buying her story so far. Stella had to marvel at the self-control they possessed.

"I was on my way to Antar…"

**Taur-e-Ndaedelos, Mirkwood. June 30th of 3004.**

"Stay still, Sol," Lycia scolded. The blond matriarch had a surprisingly stern tone when it suited her. Lycia braid trying to do Solene's hair, but the young girl would not be quiet.

"Still?" the bride asked sceptically. "The flowers do not match the decoration!"

that was said as if Sauron himself had invaded Mirkwood and slaughtered Thranduil in front of his people. Lycia glanced across the room to her older daughter, Amaellys, who was smothering the delicate pale green wedding dress. The two exchanged a knowing look.

"Do not worry about the decoration, Solene. Eilliel shall take care of it for you, it is her function. I think... I'll make it curly. What do you think? It will be easier to undo later."

"_Pfuit._ This is _my_ wedding, not Eilliel's- of course I'm nervous. When last I heard, the last shipment- whatever- of wine had not even arrived! How will I not—"

Stella cut Solene off before the rambling got too long. "The wine arrived this morning. A great deal of it, too, so you can knock it off. And Leillia told me the men are just returned from their male bonding ritual- what should mean they're done hunting and we have enough meat to feed twice the crowd gathered here."

"Why did I agree with this? I wanted a _discreet_ wedding. Close friends and family. And now, I do not know more than half the people who are here!"

"I'm done!" Lycia announced, interrupting the new flow of bridal jitters. The matron discreetly wiped a tear and examined her handiwork, every bit the proud bride's mom, even if the child in question was not hers by blood. God knew it mattered not to Lycia. Although, she would not be sad if the girl had fallen for a guy from her own country. Damn her father's machinations. Verlat had practically handed her daughter in a silver plate. But today was a day of celebration and joy, not of sad reveries. So Lycia placed a medium-sized mirror in front of her little girl and showed her hairdo from several angles. "I do not think you shall need to fear being compared to anyone tonight, my dove."

"Thank you," Solene murmured, squeezing her mom's hands and placing small kisses on them. The girl stood up briskly then, nearly knocking the chair on the ground. "Ama, that would be enough. Let me put that dress before I loose my nerve."

"But there is one hour to nightfall yet, at least!"

"And I cannot spend it in my underwear!"

Amaellys handed the dress with a frown; but slowly, as if she could really delay the inevitable. The sun shone still, and Solene would end up wrinkling her beautiful dress- Amaellys had designed it herself, and had her best seamstresses weaving it. They would have no foreign making the gown.

Stella, finally loosing the battle against her own nervousness, climbed on the window ledge and concentrated hard on memorising the gardens, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her own clothes. Smart, practical riding outfit. She was in no mood for fancy dressing now.

"Let me dress you, dear, your hands are trembling," Lycia interfered diplomatically. "But I'll have you remember this: if you do not keep your feet on the ground, I shall make your royal rear the colour of your hair so you come back to your senses."

The ceremony was absolutely beautiful. In the end, it truly mattered not whether the flowers matched the decoration, for their petals were laid on the grass outside to form a carpet. The families of both houses took their offspring by their hands and joined them, speaking the ancient blessings of both cultures. Legolas and Solene slid their betrothal rings off and trusted them to the safekeeping of Thranduil. Then they placed golden rings on each other's index finger, exchanging their vows with trembling voices; and the whole crowd spoke their benedictions as one.

"Welcome to our family, my daughter," Thranduil said with feeling. Solene found it was hard not to cry on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said heartily, stifling a sob. And before Legolas had a time to figure what was coming, she winked. "_Ada_."

"And welcome to our family, son," Selton said with the same conviction, offering the reserved young prince an embrace. Legolas did his best to hide the surprise, he had not been raised to have that much physical contact. It was not altogether unpleasant, but it would take some getting used to.

"I am honoured to be a part of it, Selton."

In the end, Legolas thought, the mixing of the customs was not awkward. They had, somehow, managed to find a middle ground of sorts, and symbolise the joining of the two cultures as well as the two individuals.

The music played continuously, and the night passed swiftly in a blur of felicitations and dancing. He was forced by common courtesy to allow his wife dance with a few of the dignitaries present, as well as some of the male members of her adoptive family. In his turn, there were loads of maidens of high position that required attention, even thought his focus was never as faulty as that night.

He thought he had paid common courtesy its due when Isil reached his zenith. He nibbled a piece of blueberry pie absentmindedly and laid a small kiss on Solene's head. She was laying most indolently against his shoulder.

"Are you tired, love?"

Legolas was sure al signs of hopefulness were absent from his voice, yet the elders grinned anyway. It mattered not, that was a night to celebrate life and love; and Legolas cared little if the scene brought mirth to others.

"I'm just enjoying the respite."

Formality be damned. He rose, carefully disentangling her from his body, only to hold her again after he helped her rise.

"tell me we have greeted everyone already," she pleaded, only partially in jest.

"As a matter of fact, I seem to recall..."

"_Legolas."_

The prince smiled disarmingly. "We have at that, my love. I merely thought you might like to rest somewhere calmer."

Solene arched one eyebrow, as was her wont when she was dying to speak something witty or sarcastic; and clasped her hands with his. "if you'll be so kind, my lord."

They left quietly then, and no one questioned where the spouses were headed. Instead, the musicians played a little louder, and the plays became more lively. The feast would continue well past the dawn.

They made their way to the quarters - their quarters- in expectant silence. There was no one in the corridors, at least that they could see. When Legolas and Solene finally reached the bedchamber, he closed the broad doors with a definite thud.

And watched her as she examined the decorations. Her hair had been freed from the constraints of braids sometime after the ceremony, and it cascaded over her back like coppery silk. She was tall, even for an elven maid, and her form was slightly more curvaceous than average.

And she was bound to him.

"'Tis lovely."

Legolas jerked back from his reverie. Solene was smiling at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He walked to where she was standing, slowly, and gently encircled her within his arms. His heart was doing somersaults within his chest. The prince traced the curve of her lower lip with his forefinger, watching the reflexes the golden ring cast in her eyes.

"You are lovely, my heart."

Legolas bent his head to capture her mouth in a kiss. He tasted the sweet cavern of her mouth leisurely, calming her when Solene became too eager.

He wanted to savour her as a rare wine.

She was trembling when their lips parted.

He felt her hands trying to untie his tunic, and stilled her movements. "There is no need for haste, Solene. We have all the time in Arda."

"I hope we do not take that long," she muttered with a pout, and he laughed. "Have I ever told you my mother-name?"

"Nay, you have not," Legolas answered. What had made her think of that? Maybe Solene had thought of an _epesse_ for him. Surely, he would have one for her in the future.

"Arien."

"Do you mean it?" he asked, dumfounded. To name a child after a maia was a very bold act indeed. More than that, a mother-name usually was an omen, a foretoken of what the child's fate had in store. The maia Arien carried the fruit of the Golden Tree across the heavens.

"Of course I mean it," Arien retorted immediately. "Only it would cause me too much trouble to go by that name around." Legolas nodded understandingly. "Therefore I changed it to the closest translation in Antarian. Sunny."

"'Tis fitting. If I were to name you, I'd choose something in that sense. Are you telling me that now because you wish for me to call you thus?"

The expression on her face was absolutely breathtaking: heavy eyelids, swollen lips, flushed cheeks. "Yes, if you please."

And then Arien took him by surprise ripping his tunic off, the hunger in her eyes no longer veiled.

"Patience, my love," he gasped, since his lady was covering his bare chest with heated kisses; her hands already fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers.

"Do not take me wrong," she whispered, pausing her kisses to examine the fastenings with more care. "They were just in my way."

"In that case, I am at disadvantage. Mayhap I should remedy that now?" The prince deftly untied the bridal dress, watching with awed reverence as it pooled at her feet, exposing porcelain skin. He kissed tenderly a tiny birthmark she had bellow her shoulders.

A long time afterwards, when they were both sated; Legolas tilted his head to the side to observe the lady that slept with her head on his shoulder. In that moment, when all was quiet, he truly realised how his life had changed and how blessed he was.

There would be many more moments like those, when he watched her sleep. Moments of quiet understanding and of whispered confessions.

Their story was only beginning.


	9. Idyll

**Chapter eight: Idyll **

_"In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing._

_Thou teachest like a fool, the way to loose him." Shakespeare._

**King's Halls, Mirkwood. October 5th, 3005.**

"I fail to see why you are so vexed, my lord."

Solene placed her cup on the table with slightly more strength than should be necessary, and stood up jerkily. It was good that they were alone in their quarters – but then again, the only good thing about Legolas' obsession with property was that they never argued in public.

Legolas combed his hand over his loose hair. These arguments got on his nerves. Why could he not have the sort of quiet, fulfilling marriage his forbearers had? The prince thought, not for the first time, that he and Thranduil had greatly underestimated Solene- she was as passionate as she was stubborn.

Not a good thing when it clashed with his own obstination.

"This is because you pay no heed to my words, my lady," he replied in the same tone, allowing the formality of the words convey to her that he was every bit as angry as she obviously was. "I have told you countless times, it is not _proper_"-Legolas pointedly ignored her undisguised snort at the word- "for a princess to be as _affectionate_ as you are, in public."

"It might not be entirely _proper_, then, that your former sweetheart is coming in and out of the private quarters of the family, and she does not even work there!"

"What are you implying?" Legolas inquired his voice so low it was barely audible, even though they were standing face to face.

Solene did not give an inch, though. She hardly ever did. "I am not implying, Legolas. I am affirming it. I do not like the way she is always interfering in our private life."

"Luilliel does not interfere with anything. She knows her place."

"That's about the most outrageously -"Solene spat loudly; downright furious now, but then she could not find the word she was looking for. If looks could kill, they would be both lying in a pool of blood.

"Yes, love?" he asked, sweetly. "The most outrageously what?"

That had been a mistake; he knew it when her eyes narrowed. Solene had the dubious honour of being the one to ever irritate him to that point.

A soft knock muted whatever reply Solene had in her lips. Legolas took a while to collect himself, and then said in his most indifferent tone, "enter."

Solene's mood turned from the fiery exasperation Legolas often provoked to icy distance when the very she-elf they had spoken of walked in. Luilliel was not an exceptional beauty in elven standards, though she did have a particularly lovely raven hair. Legolas had the tact to appear as indifferent and unmoved as he could, as the object of the quarrel walked in and bowed to him.

"My lord, the king is asking for you."

Arien clenched her jaw not to scream before the obvious slight. Luilliel hardly ever acknowledged her; except if Thranduil were present at the moment. Legolas either did not notice- with typical male obliviousness – or thought it trifle matter.

"I will be there shortly, thank you." The prince was aware his wife was on the verge of continuing the fight with a new opponent, so he did not do anything that might arouse her more. In his opinion, Luilliel had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and he would keep it that way.

The girl bowed again and left the room. The couple waited a good while till the maiden was out of hearing range to resume their conversation. Solene looked at him triumphantly, as if to say, '_See what I mean?'_ and it would be hard to counter it if she actually said the words aloud.

"I would like to know why is it that the lady in question feels so comfortable moving in and out, my lord."

She made it sound so vile. Luilliel knew him almost since her birth. Was it a crime?

"She is my friend. I value her company. It saddens me to find you two at odds."

Solene bit her lip and looked the other way. "I asked you to keep her out of _our rooms_."

"She was bearing a message from the king," he replied woodenly, beginning to feel his ire rising again.

"She is not a –" she sighed, crossed her arms over her chest and, still without meet his eyes, "she was your first love, was she not?"

Legolas began to feel seriously worried. That was not going to end well. "That was a long time ago."

"Maybe. But _she knows her place,_" she drew out the words with obvious disdain. "I keep wondering, my lord, why you married a free spirit if you wished a _lady_. Did you think I could change so drastically?"

He felt like denying it, but there was no use in conjuring lies with her. Even if the prince were any good at it, Solene would know it right away. She always knew those kinds of things. It was downright creepy. His hesitation delayed for a fraction of second, and when she turned his wife saw his face clearly. "I thought you would adapt with more ease, yes."

She nodded once, slowly, her face tight with emotion. "Go to your father," she said curtly, moving to walk past him. "I will go to mine. It has been long since I saw my—"

"No." Legolas was blocking her way before she could even register that he had moved. "Do not leave yet."

Solene stared at him dumbfounded, and Legolas himself could not say why he was so upset. A little while apart might help them to cool off their tempers, and even see the situation under more cool-mannered perspectives. It was not such an absurd thing that she wanted to see her kin again. Yet he could not let her go.

It might well be just the heat of the argument. It was never good to let disagreements fester, he thought to himself.

"Legolas?" she said weakly, and he shook his head minutely, focusing in the astonished face before his. "Are you well?"

"I am quite well, thank you."

She was evaluating him, he thought wryly. Whatever Solene was thinking about had obviously distracted her from the fury. Valar bless her, she would never stay angry for long.

With a deep, long sigh, Solene reached out to release his hand from her left arm. "I will do something with you, but do not worry. It is nothing much."

Legolas arched his golden eyebrows ironically. "Solene, I have no time, I must see my father-"

"This will not take over a minute."

Strangely enough, he felt his anger dissipating- even though he should be very angry; Solene was keeping him from answering a call from the King! - He felt anxious, and even anguished, for a brief moment, but then those feelings, too, subsided, and he felt incredibly at peace and warm. His mind became clear, his feelings controlled again, and his heart was filled with a sense of rightness and serenity.

"What have you done?" he asked.

"What have you felt?"

Legolas explained, after being convinced he would not know what had happened until she had her answers. Soon he was done explaining, but the king was still waiting for him.

"You are an empath. Has no one yet realised it?"

"A _what_?"

"I will tell you later. Now go, Thranduil is expecting you."

Feeling that he was being dismissed, and slightly put off for not being able to avoid it, the prince strode to the office of the king. "You will tell me everything tonight, Solene. I want to know what this is," he said before leaving the door.

The voice that answered him was irritatingly complacent. "Yes, of course. We'll talk later."

When the door was closed and she was completely alone, Solene dared to speak aloud. "I'll be damned! Out of all the elves in the wood, I had to marry an empath!"

It was late in the night when Legolas was finally dismissed from the meeting- Thranduil had called all his captains, along with some of the higher rank antarian solders under his service- he was greatly distressed. The prince knew that eventually they would go forth to attack Dol Guldur, especially now that they had a solid force and Dol Guldur's strength was being slowly beaten down. Yet it was all too soon. Thranduil held him for a moment after all others had left, but they did not say a word, because it was not necessary. Both were warriors as well as politicians and they knew it had to be done.

So caught up in his own dark thoughts, Legolas had hardly remembered about the day's altercations until he reached his bedchamber and Solene was waiting for him, a book on her lap that she was obviously not bothering to read. Her gaze was lost in the burning flames in the heather, and her instance was strained.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked, aware of the irony of fate. He would have to tell this lady, who had agreed to face an eternity of loneliness if he fell in combat, that he was off to Dol Guldur to drive out the Shadow from their forest. In that same day she had thrown a fit over a girl who was nothing but a good friend for over more than two millennia, and she had done something utterly unnatural with his feelings today.

"I do not know yet. You tell me."

Legolas sat on the opposite chair, suddenly too tired to play games. But then the unpredictable happened. The unpredictable always happened when you were besides Solene. She would become furious over nothing, and then cool off immediately. She could be cryptic, and then explain things as if he was an elfling rather than an elven-lord several thousand years older. She could be deliberately obtuse and uncooperative, and then surprise him entirely by doing exactly the right thing.

Solene had risen and sat on his lap, and Legolas did not resist it. It felt good to have her within his arms, and he was not in a mood to have petty disagreements. For a perfect, long moment he just sat there, with his lady in his arms.

And then it happened again. All the strain, all the darkness of his heart was drawn out smoothly, and he was filled with the sense of _her_, of being home in her arms. Peace flowed into him like the stream of the Great River, and Legolas was left exhausted and drained, yet peaceful.

"_What_ is it?"

"Me. You are entirely too gloomy tonight."

"How can you do this?"

"It is nothing extraordinary. In fact you can do it too, or rather, will be able to if you hone your skill. You have never trained. I cannot believe I have not realised before."

"Could you please stop talking in riddles and tell me what it is?" Legolas asked rather sulkily. "I am tired of being talked about, instead of talked to. What is this thing? Why should people realise it?"

Solene chuckled lowly, and bent down to kiss him shortly on the lips. Legolas allowed her; after all, it wasn't such a sacrifice. And the act often raised his spirits. The prince was still confused, but decided to play along.

"You, my dearest heart, are a mind-reader. Untrained comyn usually do not develop their talents much, so it is common that we discover someone had the gift only when they have grown up. But we have been married for two years now, I should have noticed before. Actually, I do not know why I haven't. Maybe I just took your acessments as experience of life rather than intuition. Still, it is unforgivable."

"I regret to announce I am no mind-reader. I am said some of the elven lords are, but that means elves like Elrond, Glorfindel and the lady Galadriel. I am no such folk."

"You have some Sindar blood, do you not?"

"Yes, but that is far back. My father is Sylvan and my mother was sylvan, too."

"Your father, you stubborn wood-elf, is a half-sylvan. His father was a Sindar. Your folks consider themselves as Sylvan, and I can only agree with that. And it has little to do with blood anyway. Most people have it, to some degree or other."

"Then why are you so upset about the matter?"

"_Degrees_, Legolas. Goodness, I shall have to talk to your adar about this. He probably is too. Most probably."

"Is that a bad thing?" He stared at her intently; ready to read any small sign that might announce trouble. When had that conversation turned such a surreal thing? Mind-reading!

"No, I just rather have you trained. It is always better to be in full control of your skills. Might be useful, someday."

"I do not intend to pry on people's thoughts," he replied grimly. "It is not fair."

"No it is not," she agreed. "In fact, it is considered a very serious fault."

"Solene?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you really feel like that?"

"Yes, I do. Sometimes you annoy me to no end, but that is the general idea."

Legolas nodded, his face becoming buried in her shoulders again. The scent of her was always soothing. "That is the general idea to me, too."

"Come, let us get some sleep. You are not trained yet, and that means you ought to be tired."

"I am exhausted," he admitted, rising to his feet with her still in his grasp, so Solene would not fall down. Slowly she slipped to the ground and, grasping his hands, led him to the bed. "But there is something you ought to know." He began hesitantly.

"I already do."

"How come?" he inquired hastily, fumbling towards the bed. "Has anyone told you anything? It was a secret until the King gave us the inform—"

"You told me, Legolas. You were broadcasting when you came in. That is why I want you to develop your skills; for untrained, you have no control on your own mind. Not everyone you'll meet will be as scrupulous as to block you off, Legolas. Being who you are does not help the matters either."

Legolas stopped with his tunic halfway over his head, and Solene calmly helped him off the clothes. "I broadcast?" His question was almost muffled by the fabric, but she heard him well.

"Sometimes. Everyone does. Let us clear this, we comyn _do not_ prey. It is indescribable bad manners. But we are close, and the sharing was recent. I could not block you off." She took the robe off and slipped under the sheets. Legolas was suddenly reminded of how tired he was.

They embraced at once, with ease and practice, and then he slept, that sense of peace still wrapped around him as certainly as the slender limbs of his wife.

Worries about Dol Guldur could wait till the light of dawn.

**Antares, Antar. January 1st, 3006.**

The rebellion left behind a trail of uncertainty and shock that took the antarians a long while to undo. It had been quickly discovered and defeated, but the effects were long lasting. The guilty parts were taken to Judgement as soon as the chaos had been sorted out.

They were interrogated separately, under the careful scrutiny of the Comyn, and received penances according with their role and motives. Whilst everyone agreed that some of the forfeits were too light, no one seemed to have the heart to apply a punishment harsher than a lengthy imprisonment. Some people had not deserved it, people argumented. Others should not be exiled, so to risk the frail balance of Middle-earth.

And then the prisoners were taken into custody, as calm and steadfast as one would expect from the children of the republic, and the long discussion began. What to do with them once the sentence was over?

Years passed by and the Big World continued engrossed in its own affairs. Order was restored; elections were held and won, sanctions approved and commercial fees altered. Life resumed its normal pace, with the renegades quickly adapting to the prospect of being a nation with diplomatic channels open to the friendly realms. The day for the release of the rebels drew close. They would have their political rights constricted for a while yet, but other than that, once they were out of the Guard's Headquarters they'd be free to resume their lives, given that they did not hinder Antar's negotiations with other people.

When Damon stepped out of the gates, he saw his friends and family gathered in wait for him, and felt a lump in his throat. Long he had regretted that they had suffered because of him, although in all fairness the elf would probably do it all over again. His love for this nation was all consuming and absolute. It had greatly increased, if such a thing was possible, when he had been brought to trial and after, when he saw that the people was not ready to give up on him any more than he was ready to give up on them. He kept himself informed of every event in the Alliance, both big and small; his friends visited him often enough that he did not feel estranged, and some went as far as to comment on how proud they were that he was willing to risk everything, if only he had waited a little more before moving.

"_You should have talked to us, ami_," his cousin Madrin had admonished him only once, his face sombre in that distant first week of imprisonment. Only the use of the childhood nickname hinting at the great love he borne. "_We would have investigated it for you_."

Madrin had been right, of course. He should have waited longer. His fear had won and his wisdom failed. He had escaped the incident famed for the recklessness most unbecoming at such old age, and many lectures on the virtues of carefulness and patience. Others had not been so fortunate.

Damon unashamedly jumped forth to embrace his parents, only marginally surprised to acknowledge there were tears in his eyes. The rest of his family closed in, all too grateful for the small blessings of being who they were and living where they did, where a man could actually make an honest mistake and be given the opportunity to make it right again.

"Easy now," he heard father Marlon say in his ear, "it is all over now. We will take care of you."

And although he was an adult of nearly tem thousand years of age, Damon nodded quietly. Then he wiped his tears and straightened himself up, too much a proud elf to allow such a display of emotion for long. "If you do not mind, father, I should like to go home."

"I do not mind, son. I have been waiting for some time for you to do just that. Come, let us go."

**A.N.: Again, sorry about taking so long. A few personal issues came in the path of more prolific writing- my apologies.**


	10. War is Upon Us

**Chapter 9: War is upon us**

_We have to distrust each other. It's our only defense against betrayal._

Tennessee Williams (1911 - 1983)

_You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war._

Albert Einstein (1879 - 1955), (attributed)

**December 3018, Third Age.**

Solene stood at Mirkwood when her husband led the army down south. She remained at Mirkwood, cursing her own besotted folly as prince Legolas patrolled the borders against the enemy "who, under the Alliance's combined forces, no longer seemed to multiply endlessly. The elves could even perceive a marked decrease in their enemies' number and, if the attacks did not much decrease in frequency, the foes did seem to diminish in number.

She yearned to ride against the armies of darkness and stand by with her people but both the king, her husband, and the entire sylvan nation had very firm notions on what a princess' role would be. Her repeated attempts to have a more active role were greatly unpopular to a country with a widowed king and a single heir who had not yet begotten children.

The Alliance was cemented but life at court became a struggle. Even more so as it became clear that the reinforcements would not stop the war from happening. And it took a turn for the worse as Solene begun to call her rival to task, inviting further disapproval from the king's chief counselor –Luilliel's father.

And then Aragorn brought the creature Gollum to be kept in Thranduil's dungeons, from where it escaped after a particularly bitter attack which had the sylvans taking refuge in their cavernous stronghold for the first time in the Third Age. As his father's proxy Legolas was the one chosen to go to Imladris to give news of that failure, and the bitter losses suffered in their realm during the creature's escape.

And Solene was left alone with a court that no longer loved their princess. She sent Word to her father when Legolas went to the Last Homely House.

The War of the Ring had begun.

With Luilliel's father on the defensive, Solene feeling frustrated and irritable and surrounded by a nation of very tense elves, Thranduil himself was feeling less than gracious.

"Daughter mine, you are too earnest. It is ever the dark ones' wish that our light be extinguished. They cannot abide us, and we cannot abide them. Until these beasts are extinguished there shall be attacks against the free peoples, and especially against elves. Be of good cheer, child, for thought the wars have lasted long and we have fought bitterly, the light of Iluvatar remains shining through his children. We prevail, we survive. And things have not yet grown so dire that we need send women to the battlefront."

Solene grit her teeth and continued articulating information between the realms. She stopped receiving replies after midsummer, and had no word from either her father or her husband until December. Saruman had revealed his true allegiances. The Fellowship of the Ring left Imladris towards Mordor and the destruction of the One Ring. With heavy losses in his armies, Sauron was forced to gather his forces around Minas Morgul until he had recovered enough to strike "though raids of orcs and goblins still occurred randomly, to keep the Free People from launching a focused attack and otherwise occupied. Rohan's Westfold, Dol Guldur, and the villages of men scattered between the villages of the Dunedain, Imladris, The Shire and the Misty Mountains were torn apart.

The elves could no longer travel around in small patrols. Pyrrhus came to Mirkwood with nearly 500 men to reinforce Lothlorien and Mirkwood, and to bring news from Antar.

Stella had left Imladris before Gandalf arrived, travelling with antarian warriors to patrol the Blue Mountains on their way home to Antares. She had no wish to be near the One Ring, lest she be tempted by it.

But this she learned late in the night, for she had been deliberately kept occupied otherwise in the palace whilst Thranduil and the counselors interrogated the antarians. The very real fear that there be somebody not of Antar listening kept the peredhil from using their telepathic connection until they could meet.

"What have you come to tell me, Eilian?" She asked the brown-haired man. "Why have you been kept from seeing me so long?"

"Honeymoon's over, that I can tell you right now. What we have is a group of very nervous, very suspicious elves hanging on to their wisdom by a thread. You're one hairbreadth away from being blamed from the scarcity of game in Winter to the resurrection of The Ring, passing through the war, the lack of royal heirs in Mirkwood and generally being too arrogant to acclimate to your newest home."

"You bitch, you" whispered Mira, a peredhil who had volunteered to leave En Arris and act as bodyguard to Solene and Stella. With Solene safely married and ensconced in the Woodland's king's caves, she had protected Stella until the youngest elleth went home the year before. Now she had left the reinforcement army to check whether the princess needed help.

Mira threw her tunic over the back of a chair and sat. "The Dunlendings are almost extinct now. The pirates and the men from the south have been sent in their stead. But Sauron's forces have been spread too thin, so he's concentrating on the areas near Mordor. The woodland elves have lent assistance to Lakewood so they're not too bad off, but the other villages that are far away from military outposts were destroyed.

"Unmasked, Saruman is now free to openly throw his own orcs against Rohan," Eillian interrupted. "We have sent modest reinforcements to all the strategic places, but now our numbers are making the natives restless. They cannot understand how an elven nation could be so vast, and the fact that we are beginning to outnumber them in their own homes is doing more harm than good. If we cannot have a major victory soon, where we can be seen as friends and allies who have been vital to the overthrowing of darkness, then we could very well be at odds with the elves of Middle-earth."

"That would mean we either retreat from the elven realms, leave them to stand alone, or risk civil war against our allies,"Solene finished.

Pyrrhus spoke up for the first time since they exchanged greetings. "A new Fratricide. With us, the evil conquerors from the east, as the villains this time."

"Maybe even Cohorts of Sauron,"said Gabriel, their Comyn shielder. "Elves who have been captured and convinced to serve the dark lord… blah blah."

"And the 'blah-blah' is the really scary part," Mira said with a frown. "They weren't all that glad to have reinforcements arriving. They felt safe with the number of antarians they did have, but now… why would we need to keep stuffing their halls with our people? They ask. And we can't answer, not with anything that'll make them realize the scope of this. As we have battles on a small and constant scale and Sauron is not launching an overwhelming attack against the elves, there does not seem to have a reason why we'd be so overly zealous in their protection.

"It looks little now because we have constantly mined the enemy's armies throughout this past century. For the first time ever the elves are keeping up with the growth of orcs and goblins, and we could even reclaim lands long lost to the shadow." Solene sighed. "But I won't risk a fratricide. That would forever ruin any chance of a lasting friendship between the realms. Trust me in this, these elves can hold a grudge to the end of the world. So be it. If a bloody victory they want, a bloody victory they shall have."

"So why did an army of antarians travel through these perilous roads through the wastelands to Mirkwood, Solene?"asked Eilian. "Now we are here, we need a reason."

"You have it. You have come to bring me home."

Pyrrhus whistled, low and long. "The king won't like having his daughter in law away from his clutches. You're his only hope of having grandbabies."

"The king does not like me much right now. And frankly, if I'm that evil, they'll be well rid of me. Maybe this was meant. I am sick and tired of being treated like a traitor, whispered about in the corridors. It's as if… no, never mind. It doesn't matter anymore. I haven't visited my family since my wedding. With the prince far away, there's no chance for baby-making, so the king will have to let me go. And if he doesn't… we'll go, anyway. It's time I join the army and do my share in the war. I can't do so here with the entire nation trying to keep me safe in my apartments, conveniently safe to beget their precious woodland royal heirs."

"Good God, Mira whispered. "That bad?"

"We should have anticipated that the war would hinder exchanging letters," Gabriel said. "But even so…"

"The misery of one person is not of much importance when there is a war to be won. I know, Gab, and I'm not angry at you.

"were you miserable, my friend?" Asked Pyrrhus, taking her hand.

"It's bearable when he's around. Even when he drives me insane sometimes, Legolas is a good husband." Solene clasped hands with her friend, intertwined their fingers. The latent Comyn link flared to life, slow and true and quiet, so to not be heard outside the walls of the royal apartment. "But now, I am pissed off and fighting mad. Isn't it wonderfully convenient there's a war to be fought?

**A.N.:** My most sincere apologies for the delay. Rest assured, the next chapter is ready, and should be uploaded this week or the next.

It's been years since I wrote Lady of Magic, and some of the earlier details escaped me. I even lost some of my notes. But I knew "more or less "how the story would end. I was going to post a note saying what happened to whom, and how it ended, when my login and password for my work program failed and I had to wait 3 hours for the tech dept. to grant me a new one. With nothing to do and everybody else busy around me "the company does not approve of employees taking a stroll while they wait for password resets, either "I had nothing but my notebook and a pen to pass the time.

So I wrote part of this chapter and the next. It's not refined, it's not beta-ed, but I figure I left you hanging long enough. With my apologies, I hope you enjoy!

Elentari.


	11. You can never go home

**Chapter 10**: You can never go home again

_They were silent for a while. At length Aragorn spoke. 'As I have begun, so I will go on. We come now to the very brink, where hope and despair are kin. To waver is to fall. (…)'_

**January 3019, Third Age**

And thus Solene left with Eilian and Mira and five hundred strong arms towards home.

But they took the long way around after they crossed the Laketown at Esgaroth, going north and west to the Ered Mithrin, higher north than the sylvan patrols. By mutual consent they did not come south by the Misty Mountains, but patrolled the hills were the towns of the Free people were far and scattered. The wilds had been overrun by all manner of evil – not only yrch and Saruman's horrid creature, the day-walking Uruk hai, but also ruffians and bandits, mercenaries and murderers.

When they found the village of Bree, it was deserted.

It was assumed that the fellowship was crossing the mountains, or perhaps Moria. There was some debate about circling around the mountains to meet them at Lothlórien, but Solene was adamant the companies do not meet.

Eilian teased her all the way through Rohan's gap about her fearing her 'lord's husbandly fury'. Solene though the teasing was worth avoiding the ring. Again.

And at every day of journey, she pondered whether to head south to Gondor or go home to Antar. Husbandly fury or no, there would be one heck of a mess as Stella vanished. Inevitably there would come the day when all the peoples would discover she had never had a twin, but only one older brother. Even if Galadriel held her peace and said not a word, there was always Celeborn. Or her own mother and brother may have chosen to be reborn in Aman.

Talk about awkward.

Too bad there was no way around it. It would probably be nice to start to let people realize she was a witch. If Galadriel (Now squeaky clean and a respectable queen and White Council member even after that whole fratricide did-or-did-not debate) got away with the title of Sorceress of the Golden Wood, a sylvan princess could perhaps get away with being a witch. Maybe.

Deciding to stick with the problems they already had, the antarian company crossed the undeeps of the Anduin, the wildlands and then went straight to the hidden road to Antares, only engaging in combat where the orcs charged at them. It was a pity but time was of essence if they wanted to arrive at their homeland and then have the option of joining the war in Gondor, or going straight to Mordor.

If they tarried long, they may not be able to enter the elven lands for the army preparing to lay siege, or not be able to leave it after being in.

When it was necessary that they stop to rest the horses, Solene cast hexes and protection spells around the camp. She allowed the others to see it and even taught those who had once been her students how. For a while they would believe she had learned tricks among the woodland elves but soon, soon they would know. And remember those nights.

As February came and ended, they reached the borders to the Republic. There were ten thousand or so orcs and men spread out before the long hidden walls of Antar, and once more they had to sneak around the enemy rather than engage battle. It was mid-March and many miles north when Solene finally found a gateway not under siege.

Much had changed. Rather than a group of wardens keeping the border, there was a full company of warriors in readiness should the enemy march to that entrance.

And among those warriors was a man Solene loved, and had not had the chance to speak freely with since before she first turned back time.

Solene stood petrified, not knowing what to say. Pyrrhus went to Damon before he greeted any of the other warriors.

"Peace be unto you, Damon." They embraced, tight and fast in the way males who love each other are wont to. "How are things here at En Arris?"

"Quiet, so far. It makes me nervous."

All around them the company that had traveled unloaded the horses and spread out and beyond the warriors' camp. Within the walls they were safe for the moment, and the trip to the capitol would be done with less tension and fear. Pyrr and Damon continued their conversation while Mira stood behind Solene.

And Solene stood still, just drinking it all in. there were many who she had used to know, whom she had taught, loved. Lunäere passed by with a tray laden with travel bread and cold cuts of meat for the newcomers. Lavignia kept vigil at the top of the wall, looking as if she could barely wait until the enemy crossed into her line of sight – and into death. Anndra was training with Darien on the grass, both naked to the waist. Darien was alive in this timeline, but he did not know Solene. They were not friends.

So many whom she loved did not know, did not care about her except for the most superficial way. She was a fellow citizen, and one who had elected to marry and live outside the borders.

"… And they have made difficult for us to keep up the correspondence. Outside of the Republic, there are tens of thousands of Sauron's minions scattered from the desert to Mordor. Saruman seems to be occupied with Rohan and Gondor, but he may have sent reinforcements. It's difficult to see the difference between one evil's army and the other," Damon concluded his report, turning his steady look at her. "Insofar they are concentrated on the southern borders. We keep watch on the coastline also, in case the pirates come with their wicked allies."

"Saruman's orcs can walk by day," Solene spoke. Pyrr turned around to watch her. "Sauron's are usually smaller and move only by night, but Saruman did something to breed orcs that can bear the sun."

"Bad news indeed, milady." Damon acquiesced with a nod. "Anything else that may be of importance?"

"You could call me Solene," she blurted. _It's finally happening. I lost my mind._ "I am no lady here."

"You are a visiting princess-"

Mira joined in, jesting as she untied Solene's cloak with great deference. "- And a princess is always a lady."

"Don't make me hurt you," Solene hissed.

"No kinslaying in Antar. It'll ruin our reputation," Pyrr admonished, serenely unconcerned with the possibility of Damon taking insult of the subject.

"I am antarian," Solene said again, with less hostility. "Here or anywhere else." _If anyone ever earned the right, it is I._

"As you wish then, Solene. If you remember any other important fact, pass it on to me or to Anndra. Forewarned is forearmed, after all."

Solene repressed a bout of hysterical laughter. _There are times being forewarned means only you have more time to be nervous._ "I will tell anything I can tell that is helpful." _Too bad there are so many things I cannot tell that would be helpful. _"Do you know where Selton is? I should like to meet with him as soon as can be."

**Antares, the capitol, Antar. March 10th, the Dawnless Day.**

"It is darker the nearer it is to Mordor," Dalton spoke to the men gathered about, messengers to the captains leading the army defending the country. "In the south it is like the stars and moon do not exist, and today the sun shone only so long as its rays could reach us under this darkness. It makes the elves wary and the men afraid."

_I daresay it made them all afraid, but the elves hid it best, _Stella thought at her 'twin'. So close to the turning point she had grown into what Solene had been like at the Mortal Winter. It was only a matter of time.

It was running out.

"Mordor has already unleashed the army, and Isengard is emptied. Rumor is that the fellowship broke down and the Ringbearer went into Mordor, alone, may God help him."

All around the elves exchanged worried glances. _Goddamned bloody fool went into Mordor alone?_ Solene asked Stella. _Is he trying to ruin everything on purpose?_ The younger self questioned.

Hayden whispered, "May God help us all Free Peoples that Sauron never finds how close he is to his heart's desire."

Selton turned sideways to pat Solene's hand, for she was sitting beside him. "The last mail-dove brought a note saying your husband was in Rohan, defending king Theoden's lands."

She took a deep breath to calm herself before responding, "on his way south to Gondor. Make no mistake, he shall go there."

"Don't borrow worries when there are so many around already."

"But I _**know**_ it, ada."

_Will you call me your dove when the veil is lifted? Will you understand why I had to turn time around? Will you ever forgive me for deceiving you, for having you love me as two different people? Will my husband ever forgive me, he who is always so righteous, so proper?_

Why on God's Green earth had she came up with that stupid twin idea anyhow? It would have been so much easier to masquerade as one person. Even if it made it more difficult to deal with one country at a time, in the end it would not have left loose ends.

_Please God, do not let them turn their hearts from me. Anything but that. Surely I have paid enough in advance?_

"I understand this is a difficult position for yourself, but you must find a way to keep calm. When people see Stella more serene than you, they will assume the worst."

"It is only fear. I will try to keep it from showing overmuch."

"- I hesitate to tell Madrin to call the army keeping the shores to the battle inland. Sauron has used pirates and corsairs before… even with our zeal and the aid of the other realms I do not believe we extinguished them completely. I do not trust that they have not yet arrived to fight us."

"It may be simply that they are called to keep Dol Amroth from helping Gondor," interrupted Solene.

Dalton did not waver. "Still, I rather err on the side of caution. Are we agreed?_"_

_Ayes_ erupted from all over the wide meeting room. Once upon a time, she used to meet with the queen Valkyria to talk of state affairs and of magic in this room. Now, the captains plotted battle strategy.

She would not be going down to Mordor. The Outside Realms would have to make do with what they had already – there was a force of fifteen hundred strong in Lothlórien, the same in Mirkwood and Imladris; two thousand antarian warriors in Rohan, and thirty-four hundred men and women in Gondor. The Shire had acquired the protection of another two thousand warriors of the republic, who defended the hobbits and the men who lived scattered throughout Eriador had been asked to come and stand together there.

There were six thousand two hundred and fifty four able warriors defending the Republic and all three hundred and seven underage citizens being kept protected at the capitol in a fortress specially built for that purpose. Everyone who would have left had, and to go now would weaken the defense of Antar.

Which meant Stella would fall in battle under the over-protective eyes of her compatriots.

It would be a feat of great stealth and cunning to manage to actually be in the line of combat with so many guardian angels to protect the twins. It would also be a challenge to find out what to do about a corpse. Should there be one? Should she wait to die until the war had been won? Would the ring be destroyed before or after, and could she risk waiting? Should she come clean straightaway and get away with the pretense?

But how to eradicate the presence of a twin who was known and infamous throughout several nations? _Oops, my bad, there's actually only one of me!_

Yeah, that would work. Not.

On Selton's other side, Stella bent low to ask, "Any doves from Gondor?"

"None. Total silence. We believe they have been shot down. We have few mail-doves left."

"Since when_?"_

"For the past fortnight. But we have always know that's where the hammer would strike the hardest."

"So there is no way of knowing what goes on at the major battlefield." Solene took another deep breath, then released the air slowly. If she did not find a way to calm herself all captains present would think she was ill. "I need to find a way to know how things came to be thus," she said to herself.

Across Selton, Stella went still. _Not again!_

_Doesn't look like we're going to win this time around either._

_But we have reinforced everything that needed be. Antar has less than half of our warriors to defend our own borders._

_And the ringbearer went all by his lonesome into Mordor carrying the One Ring. Might as well have tied it with a bow._

…

_Not to mention the small detail of our own selves. The shit is going to hit the fan any day now. If not during the war, then after._

_It would have been nice to have told that in advance. Like, two hundred years ago?_

_I was too worried about the war to check the details as I should have. This course of action was not wise._

Stella shifted in her seat as Dalton kept droning on about where the enemy was stationed outside their borders, and how they could get rid of them the soonest.

_To say the least. But we'll have to dance to the piper. We cannot chance another turn._

_We can if we're careful to live apart._

_So that's what drives you? Not that the war may not go as we want it, but that the consequences for our deceit may be unpleasant._

_They won't be unpleasant, they'll be catastrophic. Everything that we worked to save will hate us, revile us. We win, but we do not keep the prize. We shall be like Maeglin, rejected and exiled forevermore. _Solene nodded once at Stella to make her point. _We should divide and conquer once more, Stella. Find out what happened and when, pinpoint the dates and the facts so that we'll be able to maneuver them the next time. We could disguise ourselves as rangers or something, live undercover. Only one of us will be revealed this time. We should probably let people be aware that we have magical powers. Be like Galadriel, without the royal bloodlines._

Stella snorted. _Yeah, because everybody and their cousin can be Galadriel. You've lost it._

_That's a very likely possibility._

_We will win the war. Don't risk Middle-earth for our own sake._

_Middle-earth _is_ lost. It was lost the moment the Ringbearer parted from the Fellowship. He cannot go undetected long inside of Mordor. And we never know when he'll succumb._

At that moment, the conversation halted. A horrible screaming beastly cry echoed. The twilight faded completely on the sky outside, engulfed by the absolute darkness. The air was close, and thick, and terror was overwhelming. It was hard to breathe, let alone _think_. The warrior on the door screamed for them to put on armor and shields, the Nazgûl had arrived.

Sauron had found a way into Antar: up from the sky.

_The Ringbearer fell. He has the One Ring. _Solene stood and clasped hands with Stella, as they tried to make their way someplace where they could apparate. _I will prepare our luggage, you try and find out as much as you can. We need to prepare to make the turn. Do not let yourself be caught by the Nazgûl. Vanish if need be._

_I hate myself,_ Stella though disgustedly.


	12. Déjà vu

**Chapter 11:** _Déjà vu_

The more alternatives, the more difficult the choice.

_Abbe' D'Allanival_

**Ered Mithrin, Middle-Earth, July 26th of 2910 of the Third Age.**

_She was lost._

_She had something utterly important to do there, she knew. She was risking everything in that move, and yet she could not _remember_ why it was that she was there at all._

_A huge, metallic thing went in her direction at high speed. My truck, she thought, not knowing from where that knowledge had come. _

"I lived this all before," her double had said to her, taking a deep breath. "I do not know how much you remember now but you will remember some of your experiences at the War of the Ring in the next few hours. However, you will not remember exactly what happened before you turned time back for the first time. It does not matter because most of it is written down in your journal," she tossed the disoriented girl a leather covered book. "What is not written will remain for ever a mystery, I'm afraid. All you need to know is that it was necessary to make the travel and change a few things in the future. Do you follow me?"

_The girl opened her bag and retrieved the book. It was there. The last written page had a decidedly frantic handscript, as if someone was in great hurry while writing those thins down. At the same time, she saw a girl – her double – walking quickly towards her. Her double was trembling, and pointing a woody stick in a menacing manner. __**A wand.**_

"She will kill me," she stated. "The younger and the older self cannot meet. It's the main rule of time travelling. It's against the laws."

"She will not kill you. All you have to do is tell her to look into your mind. She will know you're not foe, and that something terribly serious happened, serious enough for you to break the rules. She will take care of you until you recover enough of your memory to draw a plan with your other self and you'll work it out from there. Here, take this backpack. You'll have everything you'll need in here –your journals, your wand, your first aid bag, some books and a couple of clothes. Your weapons you already carry with you –but remember to lower them to the ground when you meet her, it is important she does not sense danger from you. Do you understand me?"

_She slowly lowered her backpack to the ground, also dropping her wand (she just remembered in which pocket she kept it), her bow and arrow and her short swords. Her double wavered slightly at her actions._

_"I broke the rules," she said quietly, not wanting to startle an upset witch with a wand appointed to her. This was the most critical of times, the younger self might kill the older, and vice versa. "Because it was important. If you'd be so kind, I'll lower my mental barriers now, and you'll see for yourself if I'm a friend or a foe."_

_"Open your mind then, and let's see it." Her double had said. She obliged._

_"Holy crap," the self that had climbed down from the truck said when she saw Arien's mind –what was not blank, that is. "How come that you've lost your memory?"_

_"I'm not sure." Arien replied quietly. She was getting dizzy; the northern hemisphere was having an extremely hot summer that year. Arien remembered they'd also have an unimaginable cold winter sometime soon, the Deadly Winter it'd be called._

_"Of course you're not sure, silly me. Oh, hell just what I needed: Sauron, a Ring of Power, an army built to destroy the world of men, my own country after my blood and an infatuation with an elven prince. Could I get any more fucked up?"_

Another version came forth from the trees, which had the truck driver reaching for the wand again. This one was clearly older – her eyes were deeper, brighter, and fuller with the sorrow and worries that the years had brought forth. Though her mind was open for scrutiny, they could sense stronger defenses and a greater discipline of will. She wore Middle-earth`s version of jeans and a T-shirt (for males) – trousers, undertunic, and overtunic. The index finger of her right hand still carried the faint mark of a ring just taken out, and her hair was longer than either others' and bound in a long, simple braid.

"Round two failed." she took a great breath and crossed her arms under her breasts. "I tried to rewrite the past but I won only a few battles, not the war. Even if Sauron had not found the ring – and yes, he did – the aftermath of the Second War of the Ring would bring destruction among the allies once the deception was made known. This time around we shall not lie about ourselves. But we should probably try to not let the Free People panic either."

The other two just stared at the newcomer, trying to see through the jumbled mess of memories and might-have-beens.

"The direct approach failing," said the youngest, "I can understand. The double-oh-seven thing going down the drain is a bit tougher to swallow. If I can't be direct and I cannot use misdirection, what on earth am I going to do? Ask pretty please? Hey guys, I'm a time-travelling witch! I know how all events are going to unfold! Do not trust the venerable, super powerful president of the White Council! Follow me instead, for I am righteous! _Yeah_, like that'll work."

"We have work to do." The eldest stated, ignoring the youngest's rambling. Was she really that stressed in the past? It was a wonder anyone had put up with her.

"I cannot deny that," the youngest accepted. One thing at least was in her advantage; Arien's younger self recognized danger and would not run from it.

"I think the first thing we'd do was to choose ourselves names." Said the one at the middle.

"I am leaning towards One, Two and Three," said the eldest with a smirk.

"Spoilsport," hissed the youngest.

The eldest laughed for a moment. Then she went quiet, like the mirth had been surprised to be there and drained from her face leaving only the sorrow behind."I shall reclaim my own name." said the eldest. "For I will not hide who I am this time. The two of you can use –"

"We can do the choosing while you recover from the time-travel. God damn it, this changes everything! Get in the car, I'll drive us all somewhere safe, somewhere we can hid until you're healed. We can read that journal and try to figure something out then."

"Stella. That was my name- that'll be your name. Mine will be Solene. I think I remember that." Solene picked up her things from the ground, amazed to find herself swaying. She felt no exhaustion, just a curious sense of disembodiment. Arien came from behind and supported her upright again.

"You do realize we have a hell of a problem with the Time Paradox, don't you?" Stella said. "Come on in. We'll talk when you can keep your eyes open."

Arien and Solene entered the truck, leaning on each other like two drunks, and Stella started the engines. She drove north, to the wild woods of the far Northern land, the lands from where her father's tribe had come. They needed shelter, and they needed to be away from the people of Middle earth for a while. They had to make an_other_ plan.

**Antar, Province of En Arris, northwest border. September 10th 2911.**

Some of the fruits and wild berries had frozen on the branches. It was bitter cold already, though it was still autumn. The Deadly Winter had arrived. Arien and the timeline doubles had built up a fortress in the Northern Waste, around which they had placed protective jinxes and the Fidelius Charm. They had also spent the last year drawing maps and charts, timelines and strategies for the upcoming war. And recovering. Stella was the only one who was relatively unhurt, but Solene and Arien herself were exhausted. The two had used up their entire stock of _Draught of Peace_ and _Invigoration Draught_ to improve their health. Stella dared not let them use anything more unorthodox. 'We are pushing the envelope already,' she used to say.

It had been agreed that Arien go forth to Antar when she felt recovered but that the other two should roam he western lands disguised as (male, of course – Middle earth was not quite _that_ evolved yet) human rangers.

Rule number 1,098: Avoid Saruman at all costs.

Arien set out from her QG in the Northern Waste, travelling slowly towards Antar. The road would eventually lead her to the gates to which Fangorn had given her directions.

She had built herself a wagon that would carry some of her belongings – weaponry, clothing, a codified copy of her journal and a magical trunk – one that would open a different storage space for each of its 7 keys. Two of them were filled with dried food, one with clothing, another two with books and notepads, and the rest with magical supplies and potions. She had paid an exorbitant price for a horse at the first village she had crossed. The poor thing was old and not likely to live much longer beyond reaching their destination – but it was necessary to go through the pretence, and the family who had sold it would need the coins for the long winter to come. If only everything was that easily solved.

A pale sun shone weakly on that cold morning when Arien reached the Great Walls of the border. She knew the wardens had already seen her from their watch posts. Bringing the ageing horse to a halt, she jumped off the wagon and pulled her cloak back from her head, leaving the bright red mane clearly visible. Then she stood before the entryway and waited.

And waited.

When the winter sun began to set, the gates finally opened. And red-haired Damon was standing on the other side with three other elven warriors.

The Time paradox acted on a most curious way on her memory, but the first, unblemished timeline was relatively clear in her mind. Arien remembered that six-feet-four, leanly muscled body as a disapproving warrior set out to unleash destruction and save his country. He also remembered how kind and tireless he had been in assisting her during the years she had taught magic.

If at all possible, Arien was set on avoiding disruption within Antar. Without the Rebellion, there would be no black mark against her friend's name.

"_Ayia_," Damon said softly. Those pale blue eyes studied her, and a smooth strong probe pushed into her thoughts.

It was considered bad form among friends, or fellow citizens, to read where one had not been invited. But to examine a newcomer was simply a matter of national security.

Arien knew he would know that she knew he was reading her. For that very reason what memories were not blank from the paradox had been carefully stored in _pensieves_. She allowed herself a small smile to go with her deferential bow.

_It had been over fourteen thousand years since any peredhil asked for shelter in Antar, and the walls had been closed for good since. Antar stood out of the outer world's affairs and the outer world seemed to be too happy about the arrangement. A small but respectable guard always watched the Wall and the borders, giving that their recent neighbors, the Easterlings, weren't exactly the most trustworthy of people, but they were left in peace. Watchful peace, but peace nonetheless. _

"_Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo_." Her quenya was rusty, but until she had officially learned the antarian language, it would have to do. "I am Arien Half-Elven. I am searching for the haven of my kind. Is this it?"

"We have some half-elves among us." Major euphemism – most antarians were peredhil or descended from them. "But most have arrived long ago. We keep vigil to keep the evils outside at bay, and have not received our like in many millennia. What kept you so long from seeking shelter among your kin, traveler, if I may ask?"

"Even with directions this realm is not so easily found. For I came close to this place many times, but could not arrive at the gates for reasons too numerous to mention. I have also spent some time traveling through the realms of Men that I might understand them better." At Damon's warriors' look of surprise she added, "The elves are grown less. There are too few of us who linger now, most have perished during the long battles against the shadow, or sailed into the West to the lands where the Powers live. Men are by far more numerous and spread out. I visited with them for a little while."

"What countries have you visited?" asked a dark haired novice warrior. Solene patted her horse to calm him, the beast was whining to complain about the cold.

Until Damon granted her safe passage, neither of them would find shelter.

"I have walked among the beornings, the men of Esgaroth, the men of Gondor and of Rohan. I also visited some villages in Eriador where the Halflings live, places where trees have grown wild or angry and neither men nor elf dare walk – needles to say, I did not linger there. And I had to cross through the land of the dunlendings to come here, but they received me poorly, and I made haste. I do not think I shall return there."

"The dunlendings are hostile," Damon stated neutrally.

"Oh, well. That explains the crossbows, I suppose."

**

* * *

****A.N.: sorry about the delay. RL has been crazy. I'm nearing the end, where I have things neatly lined up, so the updates should come faster now.**

**Thanks for hanging on!**


	13. The End of All Things

**A.N.**: As promised, I am going to write below what my intentions were for the ending of this Renegade saga. I've tried to write the next chapters many times in the past two years but never got any far – it seems my renegade muse doesn't want to play anymore.

Some months back I downloaded this trilogy and noticed a few errors in continuity, detours, and veering off in directions I frankly cannot remember how or why I went to. In the beginning I made Arien a normal sylvan elf, daughter of a well-positioned but nonetheless un-noble mother. Then in the second and 3rd fic she was Aredhel's daughter (and consequently Galadriel's niece). Trouble is, two years later, I cannot remember why I went back and re-wrote 100k plus words to make it so. Even if I wanted to make it plausible for Arien to have the sort of powers she had before learning witchcraft and wizardry, the rest of the antarian wizards (which are the remnants of th eAvari elven clan and the children they had with mortals back in the Dark days before the Moon and the Sun) would still be unexplained. And if, as I seem to recall most of my fic being, being an elf is magic enough and they can achieve Dumbledore-like levels of magic (or perhaps more to the point, Gandalf's kind of level, if only through different means and with a different style) then there would be no need to touch the whole Noldorin bloodline nest of bees.

What on earth was I thinking, you might ask. Excellent question. I Whish I remembered.

I apologize for leaving you guys hanging so long. University, job, family issues got in the way of my writing to an extent that I am rusty. If and when my errant muse decides to make a comeback I will write the rest of the tale without any pressure or expectations.

I would also like to note my appreciation for those who took the journey with me, reading this really prolific fic throughout the years.

And so, without further ado, I give you the events of the rest of the story:

**The end of all things**

_Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better._**  
****Samuel Beckett**

- Frodo was captured by Sauron, defeating the Free Peoples bu default.

- Arien went back in time (yes, yet again). In the last chapters we saw how the antarians armies reinforced their allies – Mirkwood, Lothlorien, and the Havens. AT the same time Saruman's used his Voice to sow mistrust and misunderstandings, neutralizing the increase of elven warriors for now the inhabitants of the western elven cities were suspicious of their allies.

- Even if Frodo had not been captured, Arien would still rewrite history. She's a heroin, yes, but her driving force has always been the need to be accepted, to belong, and she realized that the course she'd embarked on would eventually lead to her being rejected and possibly cast in exile.

- On this third timeline Arien would still go to Antar, still try to warn people that things are not as they should have been, but she'd work mostly undercover. There would have been an opening of Antar towards the outer world and diplomatic ties, but no longer antarian armies being lent out to the less populated elven realms. With less interference from her, the events would follow more closely the canon tale eventually leading to the destruction of the ring. The time-turnings occur without accident but taking a great deal of energy which makes Arien to age more rapidly, approaching the physical maturity she should have had if she had lived in Middle-earth through the

Third Age

- Arien makes her peace with Galadriel (her aunt? I dont wanna go back 100k plus again) before Galadriel sails to the West, but the rest of the western elves are still a bit suspicious of an elf-witch like she is and she remains mostly in Antar with her foster family until they decide to sail themselves, thousands of years later when Mortal Men and their cities have spread throughout the lands and the woods and wildlife have become scarce.

- At Valinor, Arien finds that the Vala either know or suspect much of what passed in the timelines before, but they are being lenient because, well, she did avoid disaster. She then tries to charm her (ex-)husband but Legolas has grown a bit too fond of being a bachelor. There a maia, I was thinking Ilmare as she is the handmaiden of Varda, points out Arien would not be bound to a promise that was never made – that is, the wedding that never happened. Arien would then let Legolas go and begin to consider other elves to mate with, as she is now old and desires to have children and a family of her on (no feminist attack please!). She has some trouble with her own mother who is jealous of her foster family, and her reborn brother, they have spent and lived too long apart and have to make the effort to re-connect.

- I was actually not certain whether I would make Legolas miss her chasing after him, and realise he gave her up because she was odd; or if I would match her with an elf from Antar who would be more accepting of her oddities and abilities. I was thinking Damon could have been a contender.

- Anyway, happy ending in Valinor.


End file.
